Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat
by Psycha Dea
Summary: There is a countdown for every major event, even if no one is aware of it. CJ focused ensemble piece. Chapter Twenty-eight: it's Inauguration Day. Toby and Josh make CJ's hitlist, while crappy poll results and the Bartlets don't make her life any easier.
1. Chapter one

**Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat  
**  
_  
Author:_ Psycha (psycha underscore fairy at yahoo dot co dot uk)  
_Rating:_ T  
_Disclaimer:_ All characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and whomever holds the legal ownership of the show. I make no money, only headaches in fact.  
_  
A/N:_ My first West Wing fanfic. I'm not quite up to speed on the canon yet, but I will be. In the mean time, I hope any mistakes I might make won't deter too much from the story itself. Also, keep an eye on the time switches and please: all help, encouragement and suggestions are much appreciated, especially any comment both critical and constructive, or just plain intelligent, gets attention :-)

_Summary:_ There is a countdown for every major event, even if no one is aware of it.

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* * *

The time is now  
**

Abigail Bartlet startled awake in a dark room only semi-familiar. The room, her bedroom, was unusually bright and eerie shadows seeped into the room through the balcony doors. Her heart going a million miles a minute, the First Lady reached over to the still form at her side. "Jed?" Her voice hoarse, still enough to rouse him. "You okay?"

The body bag moaned, shifted, grumbled and finally muttered in almost unintelligible but strangely comforting way, "sleeping."

She shivered from the chill of night and tried to shake the fear that chased her heart down the hall. "Must've been a nightmare." Still, rather than scoot back down next to her husband, she stayed upright, surveying the shadows. She couldn't make out the forms of the Secret Service agent outside, which now that she thought about it, was actually a positive. Satisfied that all was well with the world, Abbey sank back under the covers.

Her head barely hit the pillow or suddenly the room was a flurry with chaos. The sudden bright lights stabbed through the lids of her eyes and men in suits were shouting at her from all directions. Next to her, Jed tried to reconcile the chaos with whatever he'd been dreaming about. The first coherent words out of his mouth both calmed and amused her. "This had better not be another damn drill."

The nearest agent answered curtly with a negative. It was only then that Abbey realized they had their weapons drawn. The unmistakable barking of guard dogs and the searchlight of a helicopter too far away to hear, finished painting a picture of something more serious than a drill. Her eyes met Jed's and she saw the last remnants of sleep dissipate.

"Zoey?"

"Your daughters are fine." Senior agent Butterfield stood at Jed's side of their bed and Abbey had never been more relieved to hear his gruff voice.

Next to her, the President of the United States was being dressed. Not one to be left behind, she reached for her robes and followed the detail. "Care to tell us what's going on Ron?" The both of them were surprised when agents blocked and guarded all exits of the Residency. Shouldn't they head for the Oval Office?

Butterfield listened to his earpiece before nodding. Through her hand on Jed's arm she could tell he was trembling from the adrenaline rush. Countless scenarios ran through her head. Anything from the kidnapping of one of her grandchildren, to Britain declaring them war or a powder letter on the lawn.

"There's a situation in the West Wing."

On reflex she tightened her grip on her husband's shoulder and tried to steal a glance at the White House just across the lawn. "What kind of situation?" Everyone in the vicinity stared at her for a moment and she silently cursed them for paying attention to the blasted protocol at nerve-wracking times like this.

"What kind of situation?"

Apparently, only now that the leader of the Free World repeat her question, it was deemed worthy of an answer. "Someone penetrated our defenses with a firearm, sir."

"A firearm?!" Her husband's voice roared through the room and for a second everyone froze.

"Is anyone hurt?"

"The intruder has been incapacitated, sir."

"Is anyone hurt?" This time she stepped directly in front of agent Butterfield. Their friends were in the West Wing. Not their employees, or acquaintances, or servants; their _friends_! But again they ignored her, at least until Jed indicated quite clearly he would like an answer as well.

Ron stepped back, but Abbey recognized his expression. "Due to the late hour, most of the staff was at home." She wanted to scream at him to cut the crap, but instead stood as unmoving as the Statue of Liberty, waiting. "We are rounding them up as we speak."

"That's good," the President allowed with a healthy dose of apprehension.

"Sir," that tone… Abbey tightened her grip, "Flamingo was shot."

Already motionless, her lungs flaked out. Claudia Jean, oh dear god.


	2. Chapter two: spring 1997

**Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat**

_A__/N:_ Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! I'm thoroughly enjoying writing this, so it's good to know others are enjoying reading ;) I'll be adding a new chapter every weekend and would have this past weekend, were it not that log-in features appeared to be temporarily disabled. The next six chapters are waiting... In the mean time, should anyone feel compelled to help me out with some canon factoids from season three onwards, I'd really appreciate the help! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter

-Psycha

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Tempus minus **six years, five months, sixteen days and seven hours

Foolish, foolish, foolish. She'd expected this campaign to be like the others. Why, she wasn't quite sure. It wasn't just bigger than the campaign for governor years ago, this campaign was more intricate, more complex and especially more tiring. "Or maybe," Abigail Bartlet muttered to herself, "I'm just getting old." She certainly felt older than her fifty-three years and she suspected that sixteen months from now –come election night – she'd feel older still.

Her husband was nowhere to be found amidst the flurry of volunteers and ringing phones, which in and of itself wasn't much of a surprise. Still, he'd promised dinner and the number of times he'd cancelled their plans during the past two weeks didn't bode well for the next five years.

Digging in her purse for her cell phone an unexpected presence suddenly forced her to halt mid-step. Hot liquid washed over her chest as the collision rocked her balance. In an attempt to avoid another collision –this one with the floor – she took a step back and in the same instant seized the damage done to her suit. Her ivory suit, now covered with hot coffee. "This," she complained angrily, "is not what I signed up for!"

"Oh gosh," the blockade exclaimed with sincere horror, "Mrs. Bartlet, I'm so, so sorry."

Abbey gave the other woman a cursory glance, but couldn't hide her agitation. All these interns really got on her nerves. Then again, she realized while trying to soak up as much spilled coffee with offered napkins, this woman's voice had lacked the heralding trumpets most of the volunteers brought out when meeting the boss' wife.

Another quick glance confirmed the disquieting thought that this woman might be someone important. Drops of spilled coffee stained her shoes, cream white Gucci pumps. Legs that went on forever eventually disappeared in a soft peach skirt. Gucci as well, Abbey reckoned. A white satin blouse –conveniently without a cup of coffee on it - and tailored jacket finished the ensemble. "You have me at a disadvantage?" She tried to keep the agitation out of her voice, but really, the suit she wore was new and while the woman might be someone higher up on the ladder than the average volunteer, she could still have her head on a silver platter by morning.

"CJ Cregg."

The handshake was firm, confident despite of their unfortunate encounter. The woman was tall, she realized when craning up to meet her eyes. Very tall and the heels didn't help. At 5'3 Abbey was used to looking up at people, but for first time in a long while she felt actually short. CJ's eyes were a deep gray/blue, calm and intelligent, refreshing in these hectic days of a campaign trying to pick up momentum. "What does CJ stand for?"

There was an uncomfortable pause before her question was answered, "Claudia Jean, ma'am."

How perfectly… _cute_. "Mind if I call you by your full name?"

"Actually," the confidence wavered, "I prefer CJ."

"Very well," Perhaps this week stuck in the middle of hick-state wouldn't be so boring after all. "Now if you'll excuse me Claudia Jean, I think I need to change." She felt the woman's eyes on her back until she exited the main hall and smirked. Next time she might inform CJ Cregg of this quaint little invention, called a hairbrush.


	3. Chapter three

**Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat**

_A__/N:_ On with the time switches… also, it may not really look like it now, this is an ensemble piece (with a CJ focus of course).Feel free to review, I certainly appreciate it :)

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* * *

Tempus** plus thirty-four seconds

These were the times when she was most grateful for her medical training. Though her heart was still racing around the Residency high on adrenaline and the rush of blood through her body was drumming in her ears, she could project calm. She could do something. It wasn't like Roslynn, where she'd been informed after the fact. This time she could do something.

Ignoring the calls of the Secret Service, Abigail rushed into the kitchen and retrieved her retired emergency suitcase. She dumped it in the hands of the nearest agent and headed to the doors.

Agent Butterfield blocked her way. "Ma'am, I can't allow you to leave the Residency."

"I don't particularly care," she informed him icily, "you said the shooter is incapacitated, I'll be fine."

Jed pulled up at her side and took her hand in his. She welcomed the strength and comfort he offered. He was pale, shocked into stupor. Knowing her husband as she did, it would only be a matter of time before his blue eyes became stormy and his voice thunderous. His thoughts were almost audible to her. He was the President of the United States, no one messed with him, or his family or staff and if they did, he would make them pay.

"There might be a second shooter."

"I'm a doctor," drawing up to her full height didn't have the same effect as when Claudia Jean did it and she desperately missed the four extra inches her heels provided. "I might be her only chance, so I'll take the risk."

Ron wisely didn't point out her medical license was revoked, but also didn't move. When she tried to dash past him, he grabbed her unceremoniously, but released almost instantly when Jed softly, but as seriously as she'd ever heard him, ordered him to let go. "I have to wait for the all-clear."

"Screw the all-clear!" The agents wouldn't budge and Abigail struggled not to scream. How could they be this heartless!

It seemed an eternity, but finally Ron nodded and stepped aside. She threw him the dirtiest look she could manage and dashed out into the cold night, two dozen agents in tow.

"Where is she?"

"In her office." The response didn't come as quickly as she liked, but at least CJ's office was relatively close by.

"Are there paramedics?"

Again there was a pause. Damn him. "The ambulance is on its way."

Two younger agents opened the doors to Jed's office and for a moment it seemed like any other day. The halls were deserted, the lights dimmed. She counted down the offices. Leo's, Josh's, Toby's, Sam's. Her heart picked up speed as her feet did.

At first, she couldn't even see the door to CJ's office. Agents dressed in black were scattered throughout the bullpen and came to attention as soon as they recognized the President. Abbey just wondered where the hell they'd been when a lunatic aimed a loaded weapon at one of her best friends. She pushed them aside and let her husband deal with their objections.

A practicing physician and surgeon for thirty-five years, doctor Bartlet had seen countless of bloodied and horrifically injured bodies before and since losing her license. She'd had people die in front of eyes – more than she ever thought she could cope with. Even since Jed's election, she'd seen friends, staff and enemies injured and dead. Her own daughter kidnapped, her husband shot.

Yet for all her experience, for all her training, Abigail couldn't move. CJ was on the floor in a position only someone that tall and clumsy could achieve. She tried to catch her breath, to check for vitals and assess damages done. Instead, she couldn't get past the ghostly paleness of the Press Secretary's face. Big, blue, empty eyes stared at the ceiling and for a second the doctor was convinced she was too late. She wanted to turn back and find her husband, erase this image forever from her mind, when a soft gurgle broke through the shock.

"Claudia? CJ? Can you hear me?" There was no answer and she hadn't expected one. The sensation of lean fingers weakly grasping hers brought the salvation she was so desperately looking for. There was a chance.

A dark red blotch on an otherwise pristine blouse finally drew her attention and she ripped the piece of fabric open, carefully examining the raw wound with her fingers. Blood was steadily seeping out, but not at an alarming rate. The location concerned her. The bullet could have easily punctured the right lung, that would certainly account or the shallow and labored breathing.

Still, that one wound couldn't be the cause of massive blood loss as evidenced by CJ's pale skin. She tried to remove the clothing, expecting to find another entry wound on her friend's torso. Instead, her eyes were drawn upwards. Blood had completely colored the collar of Claudia's jacket. Urged on by her still raging heart, Abbey sought urgently for the cause and closed her eyes when her fingers found an elongated gap near the back of CJ's neck.

"Jed, help me." Immediately her husband broke free of his security detail and knelt beside her. She briefly met his eyes, sharing his horror and disbelief, but knew she had to stay focused. "Here, sit behind her, try to prop her head onto your knees." He did as she asked, careful to pull blood-soaked strands of hair to the side. Her hand on his, she guided him to the neck wound and told him to put as much pressure on it as possible. Claudia Jean shook with pain, but stilled quickly.

The wound now elevated above the heart would buy them a little bit of time and it appeared the common carotid artery was intact. "Must be a vein," she murmured, grateful for the silver lining.

"Abbey, her leg."

Glancing down Claudia Jean's prone body she silently praised her husband for his observation. A good part of CJ's dark trousers were discolored and the discoloration seemed to expand even while she was observing it.

Someone handed her a pair of scissors. She didn't recall asking for them, but that didn't matter. With an ease that could only come from too much practice, she cut the Armani fabric. Every inch of skin from mid shin to upper thigh was coated in blood. "She's losing too much blood, where is that damn ambulance?!"

"The paramedics are coming through security now." Ron answered.

She was going to put him in his place, tell him that every second counted and that security could set up shop in the ninth circle of hell and still not be safe from her wrath. Instead, she found and exposed a third injury. The sight threw her back three years, to a feeling of utter helplessness.

"Abbey?"

Slowly she looked back at her husband. His eyes were full with fear and worries and she wanted nothing more than to assure him that Claudia Jean would be all right. Really she did.

"Abbey!"

The doctor took a deep breath and then gave him the only answer appropriate to a bullet severing the femoral artery. "Fuck."


	4. Chapter four: summer 1997

_A/N:_I just wanted to put a quick 'thank you' out for the lovely reviews, they're definitely a good motivator! Also, I hope the time and perspective jumps aren't too confusing? Let me know if they are :)

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**Tempus minus** six years, four months, twenty-six days and four hours

CJ Cregg got as far as the door of her makeshift office when her phone rang. She sighed and fished the little devil from the depths of her purse, cursing the creator of these telegrams on steroids. Whoever had thought it a brilliant idea to be reachable anywhere and everywhere at any hour of the day had surely never worked a national political campaign. Her day hadn't ended since she'd joined the Bartlet-campaign five weeks ago. Until the dreaded ringtone, she'd been looking at her first night off.

CallerID came up empty, which meant there either was a journalist on the other end of the line, someone who dialed the wrong number, or someone too important for her to have their number. With a fake smile in her voice, she answered and tried not to think of the bottle of wine waiting in her fridge. "CJ Cregg."

"CJ? Hi! It's Abbey. Abigail Bartlet."

'None of the above' was a definition all too often associated with doctor Abigail Bartlet, something that could be a blessing and a curse in the PR world. Her relationship with the candidate's wife was hardly friendly. She bid a mental farewell to her free evening. "Mrs. Bartlet, of course. What can I do for you?" Ever since she'd stupidly covered the older woman in hot coffee and ruined a two thousand dollar suit in the process, her encounters with the future First Lady were frosty at best, though they thankfully managed a decorum of professionalism.

'My husband is giving another speech somewhere or other and I'm not invited."

CJ cringed and dejectedly stepped back from her door. "I know ma'am." She'd arranged it. And convinced Bartlet that in this particular instance - speaking to delegates of the State's five top grossing companies - it would be a good move to go alone. Though his wife was certainly an asset to the campaign, CJ found her to be a little too independent and principled to be trusted in the company of 'stuffed shirts', whose concern for the poor and sick extended to writing a get-well card for their mother.

"Anyway," the slight hesitation in Abigail's voice surprised her, "it appears I'll be dining alone. Again." Please don't, CJ pleaded silently and of course to no avail. "I thought you could join me."

As a communications expert she didn't fail to notice that the other woman didn't ask her anything, and while she might still be able to respectfully decline, she also knew that a more friendly relationship between the two of them would benefit the campaign. So really, what other choice did she have but to accept?

At least there would be wine, which was a small comfort.

Forty-five minutes later, she sat opposite of doctor Bartlet in a swanky hotel restaurant, decorated with too many pink and peach tones for anyone's comfort. The candles on the tables, no doubt meant to add a touch of class, only brought out the peach more with their yellow flames. In her dark, fitted suit, CJ felt out of place.

The woman across from her was also a source of discomfort. Abigail Bartlet was every bit the haughty socialite: polished, well mannered and immaculately dressed.

They ordered and when a waiter presented the first course still hadn't exchanged more than pleasantries. As someone used to giving speeches and participating in debates, the silence added to CJ's unease. In any normal setting she'd ask the other woman about her life, but she'd read the files available and already knew. There was one thing that piqued her curiosity though and a little conversation wouldn't hurt the edible Carpaccio and mediocre wine. "What was it like, attending an all-girls college?"

Surprise registered on her companion's face, quickly followed by faint amusement. "What was it like going to a mixed college?"

"Embarrassing." Her quip earned her a chuckle.

"So was Saint Mary's."

Somehow, CJ doubted doctor Bartlet had ever embarrassed herself since maybe high school. The woman was so poised and confident, any PR person's dream really, were it not for the at times feisty and rebellious personality. If she could properly reign in those facets of Abigail, she had little doubt that a year from now she'd be dining with the First Lady of the United States. "Did you sneak out to meet boys?" She couldn't quite imagine a young Abigail crawling through bushes.

The older woman smirked, "that's how I met Jed."

"Really?" A waiter interrupted them to take away the empty plates and replace them with the main course. The food was hot and her lean steak was very well done, but at least it didn't distract from the tale of how the Bartlet's met.

CJ filed the story away; it might come in handy should someone try to question her candidate's marriage.

Out of wine, they ordered a new bottle as the conversation strayed to the Bartlet's three daughters. It wasn't until desert that Abigail finally asked the question CJ had seen lingering in expressive, brown eyes all evening. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Why leave a half-a-million-a-year job to boss interns around in run down hotels?"

So she wasn't the only one reading files. Why the governor's wife would bother with the campaign staff's files, she wasn't really sure, but fair was fair. Perhaps to see if there was a chance of getting the suit she'd ruined three weeks ago refunded. She doubted it. The Bartlet's were well off, better than she'd been with her old job. "I didn't exactly leave voluntarily."

"So I heard. My husband and Leo already speak highly of you." She was sure the other woman meant it as a compliment, yet the comment came off sounding more like a threat. "Apparently your previous employer felt differently."

The woman should've been a journalist. A little more charm and she'd have every warm-blooded person eating out of her perfectly manicured hands. "Her top client didn't like what I had to say. Or how I said it."

"Which was?"

"Opinions that didn't agree with his. Said bluntly and repeatedly." She chuckled at the memory and her companion's genuine laugh caught her by surprise.

Abigail leaned forward conspiringly, displaying a very generous amount of cleavage. "Exactly what my husband will need to keep the power from going to his head."

"It'll be my pleasure, ma'am."

"Abbey, please."

"Abbey," she tried and found she liked it. Perhaps there was hope for them yet.


	5. Chapter five

C.C., I hope you win that lottery ;) And thank you, and everyone else, for the reviews! - Ahem, so yes, spellingmistake corrected - thanks Alix!

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Tempus plus** one minute and fifty-three seconds

"Jed, your tie." It was hard not to panic. Abbey felt too out of practice with a profession that made up the better part of her life, and this was not the time for indecision.

Her husband, bless him, radiated a calm born of ignorance. "I'm not wearing one."

Surprised, she looked back at him, only now realizing both of them wore nothing more than pajamas and presidential robes. "Ron, give me yours."

"Yes ma'am."

As quickly as she could, Abbey looped the black silk around CJ's upper thigh, pulling it as tight as possible while trying not to think too much about the dark red blood literally spurting out of the shot wound. "All right, here's what we're going to do," she addressed the agents, "one of you, find a chair and lay it on its back, then put her left foot to rest on top of it. Someone else, find the oxygen mask in my bag and put it on her."

Two agents instantly set to work and she motioned a third to kneel down next to her. "Give me your watch." After he handed over the steel piece of jewelry, she took his hand and pressed it on the Press Secretary's leg wound. "Put as much pressure on it as you can without breaking her leg." The young man laughed nervously but did as she told him.

The oxygen mask in place, she opened the small tank attached to it. After noting the time, the First Lady took Claudia's wrist and tried to count her pulse. She lost count twice, caught up in her worries. Pale blue eyes now aimed at her, though they were far from lucid. She wanted to tell her friend that everything would be all right, but she'd never been one to offer false hope, so instead she managed a wavering smile and tightened her grip.

Jed's eyes asked questions she couldn't bring herself to answer. Now that she'd done everything she could, the feeling of helplessness returned full force.

It was a good thing, Abigail Bartlet reflected not five minutes later, that from her position in the back of the ambulance she couldn't look out. The revved up van zigzagged through the streets of Washington with sirens blazing, probably avoiding more collisions than she'd care to know about. They reached the GW-hospital in record-time, partly due to the late hour, partly due to the motorcade in pursuit.

Claudia Jean's heart rate had dropped critically and though she wasn't bleeding quite as profusely anymore, blood soaked through the pressure bandages around her leg and neck. An IV pumped type A blood and saline solution into her veins and not for the first time, Abbey was grateful for the extensive files kept on the First Family and White House staff. The ambulance rattled on its suspension when they pulled up to the dock. Bright lights and a team of doctors and nurses greeted them when the doors opened and they whisked CJ away before Abbey's feet hit the ground.

Before she could follow, a fresh-faced agent walked up to her. "Mrs. Bartlet, ma'am, we have cleared and secured part of the east wing's second floor for you and Miss Cregg."

Hearing the Secret Service pull up behind them, she pointed the young woman to the black car. "I really don't care, talk to them." She entered the hospital and only just saw Claudia Jean and her medical entourage disappear into an emergency room. Her security detail cleared each room before allowing her to enter. She knew they were just trying to protect her, but it irked her that they held her husband more or less hostage in the White House, arguing it was too dangerous for him to go outside.

It irked her because this attack had happened in the White House. Claudia got shot in what was – until hours ago – the safest place on Earth and for now focusing on the special brand of irony that made one's skin crawl and hairs stand on end, kept her from thinking about the blood and bullets. "What's happening?"

The secret service agent she asked was blonde and almost as tall as the Press Secretary. Her expression neutral as she answered,"I don't know ma'am, the doctors are—"

"No no, not here, I'm a doctor, I know what they're doing! What's my husband doing?"

Though her stance and expression didn't change, the agent seemed taken aback. "He's convening the Senior Staff ma'am, they're on their way to the White House."

"Okay." Good, something concrete she could do then. "Somebody find me a phone to call the Oval Office and you," she eyed the agent, "what's your name?"

"Janet, ma'am."

"Very well, you come with me; we're going to see if the doctors can tell us anything yet."

Janet shook her head, "ma'am, you shouldn't leave this room, your safety –"

Calmly, after all she'd been around super secret special agents for five years now and knew what to expect, Abbey faced her protector. "The shooter is dead, isn't he?" She'd seen the sheet on the floor next to CJ's office door.

"Yes, but—"

"And there's been absolutely no indication of an accomplice?"

"No, but—"

"And the hospital is crawling with the very best agents your department has to offer?"

Janet just nodded, her pale grey eyes giving away her defeat. With a sigh, she reached for the doorknob and reluctantly allowed the First Lady to exit.


	6. Chapter six: winter 1998

A/N: I wanted to express my thanks for all the reviews once again and let you know I'm not impervious to them, there will be longer chapters and cliffhangers that'll have you jumping at my throat, just not yet... ;)

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**Tempus minus** five years, 9 months, sixteen days and fourteen hours

It was raining. Pouring in fact, as if the sky was doing her best to dump everything she wanted to get rid off on him. He didn't mind. Not someone prone to philosophizing, this morning Josh couldn't help but feel as if he was starting with a new slate. They'd won the Illinois Primary and he'd buried his father. He'd cried for the first time since Joannie's funeral. For a week he'd allowed himself to grow a beard, he'd softly conversed with his mother about every subject under the sun. Everything but politics and elections – she never cared for them. Always held out hope he'd become a teacher.

As he approached the hotel overtaken by the Bartlet campaign trail in San Francisco, the sullenness that had been his friend for the past week began to lift. He'd missed his work and colleagues. Passion infused the place, the sense that together they could be the start of something new, something big and he hoped the hotel's name – Mark Twain – would infuse the campaign with the much-needed brilliant speeches Toby and Sam could pull off.

Josh was barely inside, or Sam was on his tail and announced his presence to everyone in earshot. "The man is back, people!" The applause from a handful of young volunteers surprised him, but felt good nonetheless. The hotel's staff just stared at them oddly. A few familiar but unnamed faces came up to offer their condolences as Sam herded him to his office in the back.

From a dozen feet away he spotted a familiar blonde 'do. He dreaded this first face-to-face conversation with his assistant Donna. The woman had a knack for making any subject uncomfortable, which didn't bode well at all.

Sure enough, as soon as she spotted him, Donna came running in his direction and hugged him tightly. "Oh Joshua, I'm so sorry about your father. How was the funeral? Were there lots of people? There should be! He was a wonderful man. I know I didn't meet him, but I knew he was. He was, wasn't he? Josh?"

Grabbing her firmly by the arms, he pushed her away. "I'm fine Donna, thank you. We went over all this on the phone."

She looked at him sadly, tears brimming in her eyes. Please don't cry, he begged silently. "It's not the same. I shouldn't have left you on your own, you need someone to take care of you."

"I'm fine Donna!"

"Of course you are."

He chose not to engage her any further and followed Sam into a small conference room. "Toby, Leo and Bartlet are over at USF, meeting with Poli-Sci majors."

"Good, that's good."

"What?"

He sighed and watched his friend. "I just wonder if maybe we left Illinois too quickly."

"We didn't."

The new voice caused him to jump and he spun around to find CJ standing off his shoulder. "Geez CJ!"

"What?" She asked him innocently, though he could swear he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Why do you have to sneak up on people like that?!"

"I didn't," now she did grin, "you just didn't pay adequate attention."

"You're too tall to be so quiet," Josh grumbled, casting Sam a reproachful glance.

Sam just shrugged and sat down. "You think we should've stayed?"

"Maybe we could have drawn it out a little, called more attention to the victory."

"We left right on time," CJ reiterated, "if we'd stayed longer, people would've felt we were rubbing our victory in their faces. It was only the Primary, not the actual election." She fiddled with her glasses and fixed him with a look when Josh was about to object to her painting the Primary as something not all that important, "we stayed long enough to show our gratitude to the voters and let everyone else know we're serious about getting the White House. We did fine Josh."

"You're right."

"Yes," she agreed confidently.

"So what's next?" The sudden look of embarrassment on CJ's face didn't go unnoticed and when Sam answered his question, the smile in the younger man's voice was almost palpable.

"Obviously we've been celebrating, but tonight the staff is invited over to the Bartlet's suite for an intimate party. There'll be food, drinks, no reporter in sight and," Sam's eyes lit up like a little kid's on Christmas morning, "CJ's gonna do The Jackal."

"The Jackal?"

Sam grinned. "She lost a bet with Toby."

"I say stupid things when I'm drunk," CJ muttered softly.

Having no clue what 'The Jackal' was, Josh wasn't stupid. This could be interesting. And embarrassing. Perfect.

CJ picked up a bunch of files from the desk he was leaning against, "I have a meeting with an editor of the San Francisco Chronicle," she explained with a shrug, but paused on her way out to make eye contact. The calm, empathic gaze she fixed him with spoke of an understanding that had blanketed their phone calls of the last week. "I'm sorry about your father, Joshua."

He nodded, matching the soberness in her voice. "Thanks." She held his eyes a moment longer, then exited with long strides. Josh turned to Sam, more than ready to go back to work. "I think it's time we started selecting a VP."

"Oh yeah," Sam snorted, "because the hopefuls are just lined up across the street."

Helplessly he shrugged, "so Bartlet's not the most popular guy in the party, we'll fix that."

"Think we can also fix his penchant for useless trivia and hour long monologues thereof?"

"Fat chance."

"Yeah," Sam agreed reluctantly, while digging around the boxes of recent poll results, "I didn't think so."

"Chin up, buddy, I am The Man remember, we'll find someone." Painfully aware his enthusiasm wasn't shared, Josh went for diversion instead, an earlier comment lingering in his thoughts. "Wanna tell me about this Jackal-thing?"

At least that appeared to lift his friend's mood. "I haven't seen it," Sam admitted with a twinkle in his eye, "but Toby says you'll never look at CJ the same way again..."


	7. Chapter seven

_A/N:_ Thank you all for the hits & reviews! I really appreciate it :) I wish I could update more often, but with uni, work, more work and friends, it's just not feasible unfortunately, sorry. Hope you'll enjoy this chapter anyway...

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**Tempus plus** forty-five minutes and six seconds

The Senior Staff members had little choice but to follow the secret service agents as they were roused from their sleep and ushered into reinforced SUV's. Why was it, Josh wondered through the familiar drowsiness of a deep sleep crudely interrupted, that Toby was fully dressed while the rest of them were struggling along in pajamas or less?

"This had better not be a drill," Leo muttered as agents herded them into the Oval Office.

"Who knows," Sam yawned, "perhaps AIDS has magically disappeared across the globe."

Josh didn't think so. He might still be half-asleep, and possibly not quite back to sober yet, but he knew those looks. That's how people looked at him after the Roslyn shooting.

They all came to attention when the President entered, followed closely by agent Ron Butterfield. "And you're sure the House is secure?"

The seasoned agent nodded. "We swept the entire premises."

"What are our weak points?"

"There are none, sir."

Halting mid-step, Jed Bartlet spun around on his heels, his eyes glowering and voice thunderous. "There are none?! Then how do you explain this?" Anyone who wasn't awake or sober yet, certainly was so now.

Taken aback Ron briefly glanced at the Staffers, all of them standing awkwardly around him and the President. "Sir, everyone is accounted for and secured."

"Actually, Mr. President," it was of course Toby who interrupted, who else? Sure he'd gotten away with it for the last five years, but Josh wasn't convinced he would keep getting away with it. "It appears our Press Secretary is absent."

The deputy Chief of Staff had noticed too, hell that was his job. He chalked it up to female vanity. Though not the most vain woman he knew, CJ Cregg took great care of her appearance. She'd have to, being the face of the White House and all. The President's expression made him question his deduction skills. "Mr. President?"

"Josh?"

"Where is CJ?"

There was a beat and a look passed between the Commander in Chief and his bodyguard. "Sit down boys."

They did as told, they were in the Oval Office after all, but he caught his friends' eyes and saw their growing concern. "Is CJ okay?"

President Bartlet stood behind the massive Presidential desk, leaning forward on balled hands. "No. No Josh, she's not."

"What happened?" Leo's calm, fatherly voice finally broke the stunned silence following the boss' announcement.

"She was shot." This time, even Leo didn't have a response. Without thinking about it, Josh ran his fingers over the scar left by the Roslyn shooting. "Abbey's with her."

Josh wasn't sure what to think. Or say. Or do for that matter. It appeared no one else did either. They just stared. "How bad is it?" The President bit on his lower lip, he recognized the sign. It wasn't a good one.

"It's bad," the First Lady offered gravely. Her voice tinged with the thrill of telephone waves reminded him of old Hitchcock movies. He hadn't realized she was on speaker. "She's in surgery now."

"How many hits?" Leo, by now, leaned heavily against the striped couch, de map of the world on his face etched in just a little deeper. Perhaps his mind took him back to his days in the military? Josh's mind only went back as far as the Newseum and the storm of bullets and cries.

The hesitation in Mrs. Bartlet's silence was hard to miss and spoke volumes. Josh swallowed, searching for support only to find Sam's eyes locked on the seal in the carpet and Toby's on the concave walls. "Three," she answered at last. Leo visibly cringed. "Leg, chest and neck."

"How did it happen?"

Agent Butterfield turned to face the Chief of Staff. "A Caucasian man, late-thirties passed through gate-security at five forty-three for an appointment with –"

"Gate-security? CJ was shot in the West Wing? You have got to be kidding me!" Leo's voice bounced off the walls, as if by mere volume he could somehow reverse the course of the last hours.

Pinned in place, Joshua completely understood his boss' anger. Hell, he shared it. At least he thought he did, he didn't really feel anything at this moment. CJ was shot and he knew the Bartlet's well enough to read them. Three bullets. He'd only taken one and it had nearly cost him his life. "Why was she here?" He didn't even realize he'd spoken until he felt his friends' eyes on him. "I mean, we all left early," early by White House standards anyway, "she said she'd finish the last memo I gave her and then head home."

"It's because of me."

That apparently was news to the President too. "Abbey?"

She sighed heavily, "my interview tonight. There were a few… issues. CJ was sorting them out."

Oh boy. "A double hit." Sam's quiet voice rang in his ears. This wasn't good at all. Why did this administration only have streaks of bad luck? By his calculation, they were long overdue for a little bit of good fortune. Things were just starting to get back to normal after Zoey's kidnapping. The First Lady had only just come back to the residence; they were putting the pieces back together, getting ready to tackle their last years in office and now this… They just wanted to do good, create a better America, a better world, before they no longer could. Was a little fortune really that much to ask?

"All right." Leo stood up and approached the massive desk. Here came the game plan. "All right. Josh, get Donna, Margaret, Carol and CJ's deputies over here a.s.a.p. Sam, figure out this situation around the First Lady's interview. Toby'll stay here for the secret service briefing and then prepare a press release. Get moving boys." They started filing out the door when Leo called after them, "and change into something presentable!"

Usually these moments got the adrenaline of The Lyman flowing. Each of them excelled at crisis management and he'd had plenty of opportunities to practice recently. Now he just felt deflated and robotic.

The door to CJ's office was open, he noticed when heading for Carol's desk and his feet suddenly stopped working, causing Sam to crash into him. "Josh, what--?" There was blood on the floor. A lot of blood in dark, red circles on the carpet. He could almost convince himself they were coffee stains from a gigantic cup. Almost, but not quite. Next to him, Sam swallowed. "I have to go in there," his voice hushed, "I have to…"

Josh definitely didn't envy his friend's task then, but had no idea what to say to make it easier. "You should probably… feed Gail…" His voice trailed off involuntarily, his mind only now registering what the drops of water leisurely rolling off CJ's wooden desk meant.


	8. Chapter eight: winter 1998

If you find yourself weirded out halfway through this chapter, please keep reading, it may not end the way you expect it to… :) Also: longest chapter yet!

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**Tempus minus** five years, nine months, sixteen days and two hours

"I can't believe I just did that," CJ murmured to herself. She'd known Toby's SAT scores were higher than hers and yet she couldn't resist the challenge. Helplessly embarrassed she accepted the applause and catcalls of her friends and coworkers. There were worse party tricks than The Jackal.

"That was actually pretty good," Josh complimented. He'd been grooving along to the rap music sporting his first genuine smile since his father's funeral. "You should go professional," as often happened, his comment quickly disintegrated into a joke of questionable humoristic value. At least they were drunk enough not to care, "rap the briefings, it'll be a hit."

"Shut up Josh."

"Hear me out, you'll have everyone grooving along," he followed her through the lounge, making drumming noises as they went, "this is CJ Cregg, under the American flag,"

"Josh!"

"The news she brings to you, in high heels and a dress see-through," he giggled at his own conjured up imagery.

"This stopped being cute when you opened your mouth."

Undeterred he draped his arm around her shoulders, "sing with me, Claudia Jean, the news in song!" His bellow drew the attention of everyone within earshot, which only encouraged him, "have you heard the news today? Bartlet has won, they say!"

"Kill me now," she pleaded as they passed Leo. He wore one of his detached, but amused smiles, as if watching monkeys at the zoo. Come to think about it, that analogy sounded just about right.

Spotting Donna close by, CJ made a beeline for the blonde. Her plan worked; as soon as Josh spotted his assistant he was off. "My lovely assistant Donna Moss, and people," he took a bow, wobbling unsteadily on his feet, "my name is Josh!"

He looked a little disappointed when no one applauded, but Donna was quick to distract him. To spare herself further embarrassment, CJ slipped through the nearest door and headed for the bar. With a fresh beer in hand –these kinds of celebrations called for beer, copious amounts of beer – she made a beeline for the candidate and his wife.

There were no public appearances scheduled until eleven o'clock in the morning, allowing all of them to let off a little steam. The day after tomorrow, they'd head for the next stop on the campaign trail, but Dr. Bartlet would return to New Hampshire and CJ wanted to gauge Abigail's state of mind.

Sure she'd been supportive of her husband and cheered just as loud as the rest of them when he earned the party's nomination. And really, Dr. Bartlet had been invaluable during the campaign so far, not only in strengthening the candidate's image, but also in keeping an eye on his staff, ensuring adequate nutrition, rest and even medical care when needed. Despite a few unlucky, ill-timed statements to the press, Abigail Bartlet was the perfect wife. Still, since the Primary CJ'd caught gleams of fear and weariness in her eyes and suspected she was beginning to feel like an arm ornament, something strong women like her typically resented.

"CJ!" Enthusiastically, Bartlet waved her down. She still wasn't quite used to this new, friendly demeanor, but it sure as hell was an improvement of the sulking and tantrums they'd been subjected to before the Primary.

"Excellent party, sir, ma'am."

"Oh please," he waved his hand in a boyish gesture, his blue eyes alight with mischief, "Jed, call me Jed." Next to him, Abbey looked utterly relaxed and content; she'd even resorted to an outfit more casual than her usual power suits.

Yin and Yang, CJ thought idly, boyish enthusiasm and blue eyes lit with joy offset by measured responses with dark hair in dark suits. Both of them passionate and powerful, but one of them feared that power, felt unworthy of it still. The other embraced and accepted it, even if it would never be hers.

"Quite a party-trick you have, Claudia Jean."

"Thank you," she watched the older woman for a second, still unsure what to make of being called by her full name, as Abigail often insisted on. Everyone else called her CJ, which was what she preferred and she couldn't tell whether Mrs. Bartlet strayed because she knew it made CJ uncomfortable, or because she simply wanted to distinguish herself from the boys.

"It appears," Bartlet started, looking at some point over her shoulder. She followed his gaze, eyes coming to rest on Joshua Lyman leaning heavily on Sam, singing – or rather screeching - along to music vaguely reminiscent of her teenage years. "You've inspired Josh."

Dropping her head, she tried to hide her amusement, but failed. "I'm sorry for that, Mr. Bartlet."

He shrugged and cracked a smile. "Nah, you guys pulled off a miracle, you're allowed a little crazy."

"Thank you."

Briefly he touched her hand in a gesture of gratitude, then turned to his wife. "Excuse me ladies, I'm going to see if there are any crab cakes left."

"I think Sam's hoarded them, sir." She warned.

He waved with the bottle of beer in his hand, "we'll see about that." Abbey affectionately ran her hand down his arm. The gesture reminded CJ of something she'd wanted to ask the physician. She'd seen Mrs. Bartlet inject her husband a few days ago and just wanted to make sure he was okay. Then again, a party like this probably wasn't the right time. She returned Abigail's smile when the woman turned back to face her.

"How did you come by that performance, Claudia?"

"It played the night I got my masters, it just stuck."

"Well," Abbey was one of the few people tonight sampling the wine and CJ could tell by the glimmer in her eyes that the alcohol was starting to have effect, "it was lovely, I hope to see it again."

CJ shrugged, "who knows."

Undeterred by the brush off, the Doctor continued, "Jed loved it too, he didn't think you had it in you."

Tired with the topic, she chose to redirect attention. "What time is your flight leaving tomorrow?"

"Not until three p.m."

"You must…" a sudden change in atmosphere pulled their attention to the bar just in time to witness Sam Seaborn reluctantly handing over a plate with –presumably – crab cakes to the president. "Look forward to seeing your daughters and grandchildren again."

A soft smile confirmed CJ's question and secretly she envied the older woman. At least she had something outside of politics and work, something to escape to after long speeches and longer days. "Of course! Though Zoey is in the process of applying for universities, so the paperwork will be the same." They chuckled and CJ managed not to think about the hours of setting up security measures and press restrictions once the teenager had made her choice. "I'm hoping for Georgetown," Abbey confided, "nice and nearby."

Behind her, CJ spotted Josh making a beeline for one of the backdoors and kept an eye on it when he disappeared, waiting for Donna. "It'd be great if she could visit us." Zoey was a lovely young kid. Bright and not at all intimidated by her father or his staff. Where the hell was Donna?

"Yeah," Abigail agreed with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, "maybe she'll raise the maturity level a little."

Snickering, CJ took the opening. "Probably. Speaking of which, I just saw Josh dash into the alley, I think I'd better check on him."

Abbey nodded, "I'll go check on Jed, make sure Sam isn't planning to retake the cakes." With a last smile the two women departed. Quickly CJ downed the last of her beer and dumped the bottle in the trashcan next to the door.

The cold of night hit her sharply when she stepped outside and for a second she was tempted to turn back. Then she spotted Josh leaning back against the brick wall. His face pale and breathing shallow. "Nauseous there, Joshua?"

He took a deep breath, but didn't look at her. "No, I'm fine," he lied, his voice too shaky to be convincing. Her eye spotted a stash of fresh bottles of beer next to the door. Against her better judgment, she pulled one out and flipped the cap off using the crate. She chose to stand next to him in silence, using the quiet to think over her agenda for the next few days. When she was ways from sober, she often had the most useful insights. The search for a running mate had the whole team up in arms and though she wasn't as politically savvy as the rest of them, she knew the VP choice could seal the election. She could only hope they wouldn't chose Hoynes.

"I think we should kiss."

Very slowly CJ turned to face Josh. Years of learning how to hide her reactions when surprised by trick questions the only thing keeping her from spilling her beer and burst out laughing. "Really?"

"Yeah," Josh nodded confidently, only just managing to keep his balance.

She observed him, or at least tried to, her own gaze not as steady as she'd like it to be right now. The earnest look he threw in her direction was kind of endearing, so why not humor him? "Why?"

"Well," he shuffled closer and heavily leaned his shoulder against the wall. Even in her not-so-sober state, the strong smell of alcohol and olives on his breath caused her to lean away and consider foregoing this unusual conversation. "Because we work together."

She laughed. "For most people that's a reason not to, Josh."

He appeared to consider her response, his brown eyes crossing before focusing again. "Yeah, but 'ear m'out."

Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. "Okay."

"See, you're beautiful y'know and I'm," he paused, eyes narrowing, "a guy. I'm a guy."

"You sure?"

Her doubt threw him. "Yeah, I think. So, we should kiss."

"Because I'm beautiful and you're a guy."

"And we work t'gether." The triumph in his expression made her giggle; this was actually pretty fun.

Sure she'd thought of Josh in terms of kissing and naked, but the thoughts never lingered. He was cute and had this lovable quirk of turning the corners of his mouth down when they actually wanted to go up. "I don't think that's good enough." She wasn't as sure as she'd been a minute ago. To his credit, he looked hurt. Giving up he turned away and sank against the wall.

CJ wrapped her jacket tight around her waist, ready to go back in and escape the night's chill when he spoke again. "See, it's like this: I'm a guy."

"We established that." She really _was_ cold.

"I'm a guy and I think 'bout it 'cause you're not. So it's distracting and we should kiss."

"Cause then it isn't distracting," she questioned skeptically.

"No," he shook his head empathically, but suddenly paused to take a deep breath. "Cause then we'll know what it's like."

"What if it's good? I mean, I'm a great kisser." The clarification left her a little red-faced, but it was the truth.

The corners of his mouth turned down, brown eyes alight with a boyish twinkle. "Are y'sayin' I'm not?"

"Well, I wouldn't know that, now would I?"

"You could find out." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, pulling a laugh from her. "Come on," the ground rolled beneath her when he poked her shoulder, "you don't wonder?"

She did, but didn't plan on enlightening him. Come to think of it… "On how many poor and unsuspecting females colleagues have you tried this line Josh?"

"Claudia Jean, you wound me!" Rather than reply, she just kept her eyes trained on him. "I haven't! I'm an honorable man." That much at least was true. He'd had plenty of opportunities to err during his ill-fated romance with Mandy. "You really never think about it? It's just one little kiss and we're drunk."

"Okay." Okay? What?!

"Okay?" At least he was as surprised as she. It had been a while since she'd kissed a man and he was trying pretty hard. And she was cold and wanted to go back inside without hurting his feelings.

Not one to back out, CJ nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay." To his credit, he didn't grin. In fact, he appeared a little frightened. Shivering now, it was time to get the show started, so to speak. "Well mi amore…"

Josh giggled. He _giggled_ and it wasn't the most attractive sound. Perhaps someone would find them and rescue her?

Suddenly his cold fingers touched her cheek and their eyes met. He stumbled, grabbed her jacked and almost took both of them down. CJ laughed when certain they'd defied gravity and ignored the pain radiating from her elbow. Bunch of klutzes they were.

"If anyone asks, I was very smooth."

She wanted to tell him no one would, because no one would know, but his mouth on hers cut her off. Automatically she kissed back. He tasted of beer and olives – at least he wasn't a smoker – and to her surprise, the kiss was good. Not too wet, just enough tongue…

Breaking apart, they stared at each other. She searched his eyes, looking for a hint of what he was going to say. "That was…" his voice sounded as dazed and confused as she felt.

"Weird." It really was the only description that came to mind.

Josh returned to his earlier spot, back flat against the wall though he kept looking at her. "Yeah."

"Really weird." Like kissing her brother weird. It took another few moments to process that weird kiss. When she finally looked at him again, she couldn't help but giggle at his twisted expression. He wanted to gloat, but was just too weirded out.

"Let's not do that again."

"Ever." CJ agreed, now helplessly amused and freezing cold.

"Yeah."

Taking his hand, she pulled him towards the door. "Let's go back, mi amore." Then paused when she realized something. He crashed into her back, but not with enough force to topple them over. CJ turned to face him and thumped his shoulder for emphasis. "If anyone finds out, I'll have to punish you and I'm good at that too."

He recognized her tone of voice and nodded, symbolically zipping his lips. "Our dirty, little secret."


	9. Chapter nine

_A/N:_ Once more, thank you guys for all the reviews! There's more CJ/Abbey coming up (though not yet) and thank you Adpacaus, for the governor thing. I was struggling with how they'd address him and for some reason that title completely slipped my mind *blushes*

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**Tempus plus** one hour, thirty-one minutes and twenty-four seconds

"Do you know what I was doing Joshua?" Wearily the deputy chief of staff watched his assistant as she passed through gate-security, Margaret and Carol in tow. Both looked very much as women whose long-overdue beauty sleep had been unceremoniously interrupted. Donna, on the other hand, appeared to be soaking wet. "I was taking a bath. With bubbles Josh, bubbles!"

"At one-thirty in the morning?"

Donna shrugged, "I couldn't sleep."

"You should have."

He turned when she halted and saw realization dawning in her eyes, behind her Margaret and Carol uneasily glanced from one Secret Service agent to the next. "Why?"

They followed him when he resumed the path to Leo's office, taking a detour to avoid the bullpen. "Because you're probably not going to get any for a while." None of them spoke until he reached his destination.

"What happened?"

Leo's office was empty, but he would wait. He couldn't tell them, he didn't know how. Hell, he could barely wrap his own head around the situation. It wasn't like it was new to them, he considered angrily, they'd had their share of losses and he was growing tired of them.

The doors opened, but it was Sam who entered – now like Josh dressed in his back-up suit. His face betrayed nothing but the same weariness Josh couldn't shake. "She had it under control," Sam said absently, "she was on the phone wrapping up when…" his voice broke, probably for the best. "Oh, you're here," he addressed the three women and fell into the couch, deflated.

Carol yawned. "Yes, the question is, why?"

Before either of them could answer, Leo barged in, slamming the door behind him and hissing an expletive under his breath. If the circumstances were different, Josh thought he might have laughed at the way all three assistants jumped and came to attention. Ignoring them, Leo faced his deputy. "Where are the deputies?!"

"Henry is in Brussels covering the NATO assembly," Leo's eyes flashed, but the Chief of Staff stayed silent. Probably not for very long, considering the news to follow. "John…" he paused, unsure of how to explain, "well, the Secret Service found him in a bar."

"And?"

"He's pretty drunk Leo, they took him to the gym's shower to sober him up."

"You're telling me our deputy press secretary is drunk like a stupid college kid on spring break?! Who else has been drinking?!" He glowered at the room. "Well?"

Donna timidly raised her hand, "I had two classes of wine, but I'm not drunk."

"Anyone else?"

Sam and Carol shook their heads, Margaret just fidgeted. Scraping his throat, Josh braced himself. "I had two beers."

"You had--!" the older man stopped himself then calmly pointed to the door. "Get out."

"Leo-"

"Get out!"

"You can't bench me on this!" He wasn't drunk, not by a long shot, his system wasn't _that_ delicate and he could help, he would help and Leo McGarry couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Whatever his boss was going to say in response when, completely unexpected, Margaret suddenly shouted, "can someone just tell us what's wrong?!"

Astounded they all looked in her direction, taking a moment to process the many ways in which the exclamation was out of character.

Leo, ever in control, directed the assistants to sit. "Look, something happened."

"We got that much," Donna murmured anxiously.

"There's really no good way to say this," Josh offered after exchanging a quick glance with Sam.

Margaret spoke up again, but toned down the volume to normal. "It's really bad, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

After five years – or more- they'd all developed close relationships and their assistants often switched seamlessly between the roles of mothers, schoolteachers and supporting shoulders. Together they'd returned home broken and beaten down from battles they'd lost more times than he could count. They'd spent nights fighting for their causes, or just talking in the mess about victories and near-misses.

Leo took a deep breath, physically steeling himself. "CJ was shot, she's in surgery at GW, but it doesn't look good."

Keeping an eye on Donna, Josh's focus lay with Carol. Shock registered slowly on the brunette's face. Margaret reached for her friend's hand, but nearly toppled over when Carol jumped to her feet and raced out of the room. Donna was seconds behind, but Leo called her back. "We're going to need CJ's schedule for the next few weeks. The Secret Service isn't going to be happy about us going through her office, so be careful."

Donna nodded, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah," the Chief of Staff answered. He didn't fool anyone. "Margaret, get Henry back here yesterday." The redhead acknowledged him quietly and stepped out to her desk. "Sam?"

"Huh? Oh," like an old man the youngest of the three left stood up, "the First Lady's interview was with Kathy Layson."

"Layson… isn't she?"

"A gay-rights activist, yeah," Josh finished.

"I spoke to her," Sam continued, "she said CJ already got her to agree to cut out the questions we are uncomfortable with, they were just talking about – apparently they knew each other – about shared history," he looked at them unsteadily, defeated, "she heard the shots, then the line went dead."

"Great, so the whole Press corps is going to be at our throats in, what? Thirty minutes?"

"Tops."

The heavy wooden door swung open, startling the men, and Carol came running in, Donna close behind. "I tried to stop her," the blonde assistant apologized.

"It's okay," Leo said hesitantly and accepted the memo held out by Carol. After glancing it over, he allowed a hollow chuckle and read: "Do's and don'ts when CJ's indisposed or admitted."

"She wrote a-"

"Contingency plan."

"One: do follow these rules," Josh snickered despite himself, "Two: don't, under any circumstance, allow Joshua to enter the pressroom," Leo's glare silenced any comment he might have, "Three: do think before speaking, do take a breath before answering,"

"It also contains a filename of her recent briefings, special active issues that need attention and a list of democrats and republicans who are likely to cause negative publicity for the White House in the near future." Carol shrugged, "after the root canal and Roslynn, she wanted to be prepared. She updated it not that long ago, after Zoey..." she didn't need to finish.

"Three bullets in her body and she's still the smartest kid in class."

Suitably chastised, Sam and Josh looked at the floor. "CJ was my contingency plan," Josh whispered defensively.

Leo just shook his head.

"The Secret Service says we're not allowed in CJ's office anymore until they finish their examination," Donna said quietly, "they'll only allow Sam since he's already been in there."

Sam, for his part, just looked resigned and still hadn't manage to shake the shell-shocked expression he wore. Secretly, Josh was relieved he wouldn't have to face the intimacy of CJ's office. Just the brief glimpse he'd gotten earlier. Seeing her blood on the floor and the shattered glass of Gail's fishbowl…

Leo interrupted his thoughts, his voice gruff. "Sam, it looks like you're going to do the briefings until Henry gets back. Work with Carol and Donna."

"Yes, sir."

"Josh, call her family and prepare the information for the regular morning briefing. I'll be in with the President." He made eye contact with each of them, a wan smile bringing a tragic expression to his weathered face. The last time he'd seen Leo this old, was when Zoey was missing. It didn't look good on him. "When I know something, you will."

Quietly the four of them left. He felt he should say some words of comfort to his coworkers, something to take death out of Sam's eyes and the fear out of Donna's. They stood awkwardly in front of Margaret's desk, none of them sure how to act.

Eventually he turned to the redhead, managing nothing more than a wry smile and sullen voice. "Let's get her brothers here Margaret." She nodded and quietly continued typing. It appeared to be the cue they were all waiting for, because suddenly Josh found himself alone. His scar ached.

He knew, mostly because he'd been told so afterwards, that CJ had held his hand on the way to the hospital. He remembered hearing her voice telling him not to give up, and Toby's, muttering similar words. He remembered that one kiss so long ago and suddenly regretted the many times he took her friendship and advice for granted. CJ really was his contingency plan. He needed that shiksa feminista.


	10. Chapter ten: summer 1998

_A/N:_ I'm not going to give anything away in terms of possible romantic relationships to be featured (or not) *evil laugh*. Also, don't jump to conclusions... I'm going to try and stick to canon as much as possible, but I've only just watched the first few episodes of season four and am only somewhat aware of major plotlines in later seasons. If I do contradict canon, it's likely to be unintentional, for which my apologies.  
Well, on with the story and hey look, it's Doctor Bartlet!

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**Tempus minus** two months, twenty-seven days and five hours

CJ took a deep breath and forced herself to count to ten before knocking on the hotel door in front of her. It opened to reveal Doctor Bartlet. "CJ, good to see you, come on in."

A little uneasy she followed, briefly observing the room. It was as immaculate as she'd expected and by now, she knew Josiah Bartlet well enough to know that wasn't his doing. "Nice room."

Abbey laughed and took a seat behind the mahogany desk. "That's how I can tell we're getting closer to Election Day; the rooms get bigger."

"Hmm, I still have to share one with Toby."

"That's because you're not sleeping with the right man."

She allowed herself to laugh at the joke, but it reminded her of why she'd come here in the first place. "Doctor Bartlet, I wanted to talk to you about the C-span interview this morning."

Abigail's body language changed instantly. The older woman sat just a little straighter, her shoulders squared and her chin tilted up ever so slightly. Very much aware of the necessity of this confrontation, CJ approached the desk. Being six feet tall, she forced Abbey to look up at her to keep eye contact. "I figured I'd hear about that."

"Yeah."

"I was just surprised by the question, that's all," Abbey replied after a calculated second.

Taking another deep breath, CJ tried to control her temper. It wasn't Mrs. Bartlet's fault. At least not all of it, but all week people had been ignoring her advice and orders and her temper was on the brink of explosion. "We rehearsed the answer."

"It slipped my mind."

"You were in the top four of your class all through medical school and you're one of the top thoracic surgeons in the country. We rehearsed the interview all morning, somehow I find it hard to belief the practiced answers slipped your mind!" With difficulty, she managed to hold her voice somewhat in check, not raising it more than two tones. It wasn't good strategy to yell at any member of the Bartlet family.

Abigail's eyes widened just a little, but that was the only sign that said the other woman might be feeling a little bit guilty. "It was an honest mistake Claudia Jean."

That was the drop. "You told millions of viewers that you would use sexual bribery to make sure your husband – the future Commander in Chief – wouldn't 'waste' money trying to contain the national deficit but instead raise it to spend more money fighting HIV in Africa!" A little surprised by her own volume, CJ stepped back and tried to disguise sudden anxiety with confidence.

Over the course of the campaign, her frosty relationship with Abigail had warmed up to a friendship. One that had proved very beneficial throughout the campaign and her outburst just now could jeopardize that. With only three months to go before Election Day, she really couldn't afford a pissed off doctor Bartlet.

"Firstly," the older woman responded coolly, "I think 'millions of viewers' is overstating things a little." CJ rolled her eyes. "Secondly, I hope you feel better getting that off your chest."

"I'd feel better if you didn't just paint our candidate as a male who thinks with his dick, instead of his Nobel Prize-winning brain!"

Abbey rose from her chair to level the playing field, her brown eyes harsh under the bright ceiling lights. But stretching to full height, still meant CJ was seven inches taller. "It happens to be right!"

"You know that, I know that, but let's not let anyone else know that, please?"

"We could do good things with that money Claudia, we could save lives!"

"Yes, we could." She felt a little bit sorry for her boss's wife, her strong principles and ideals had taken a beating over the last few weeks and she expected it would only get worse. They had succeeded in drawing in the left, now the campaign was aiming for the right-leaning democrats and left-leaning republicans and to do so, there would be compromises none of them truly wanted.

Realization hit her and she wanted to kick herself for not seeing it sooner. Mrs. Bartlet had intentionally provided C-span with the comment. Uncharitably, she found it to be a little childish, but then she hadn't been blind on the toll of campaigning on the candidate's marriage and family. Abigail couldn't expect them to do the Right Thing without getting the proper backing. Their country was a democratic one.

Leo often referred to the small-statured woman as the candidate's consciousness; always fighting for what was right, regardless of any repercussions. During the campaign, they'd managed to pull her back a little. Not enough to discourage her since her contributions often proved valuable and even essential, but they were too raw for publicity. "Ma'am, we fight every day to get your husband elected, so that he can do what he can for women, children and men everywhere. And he's not going to be able to do as much as he wants to; there will be compromises and victories for our enemies, but there will also be victories for us. But the only way we can get anything done is if the American people choose to elect him as the next president."

Looking suitably chastised, a most unusual sight, Abigail crossed her arms and released a long breath. "And undermining his authority by implying he answers to me or suffers a case of blue balls probably doesn't help."

"Probably not," CJ agreed.

Abbey looked at her hands for a second, then deflated. "It won't happen again."

"Thank you." Suddenly uncomfortable under Doctor Bartlet's disappointed stare, she chose to leave.

"I think we should work to decrease the deficit." That confession took her by surprise and she turned back to face the other woman, waiting for her next words. When they came, guilt suddenly grabbed her by the throat. "Sometimes I just wish we could _do_ more. Something concrete."

"We all do."

"Really," she didn't sound very convinced to CJ's ears and her body language when she sat back down spoke of defeat, "'cause it doesn't seem like it."

"Really. You've sat in on the agenda-forging. You've listened to the speeches, you helped select issues. Can you honestly sit there and say we're doing nothing to change this country, this world for the better?"

The ghost of a smile played around the older woman's lips and the brief silence allowed CJ to take a deep breath and get her temper back under control. "It feels like just talk CJ. What are the things we should be doing, should change, instead of just explore and poll on?"

Recognizing where the conversation was going and painfully aware that she didn't really have hours to spare for a discussion they'd had before , she sat down in the free chair anyway. "Too many things, Abbey. Affordable healthcare for everyone – no exceptions. We need to raise the minimum income, help out single mothers, encourage underprivileged children and support their parents. There are still too few women in high positions and women still get paid less than their male counterparts. Abortion is harrowing and awful enough without the extreme right persecuting women. Too many rapists and abusers get away from the law and when they don't, the punishments are too lenient. The illiteracy rate in this country should be zero and every single man, woman and child should have decent and affordable housing available to them. The state of public schools is dismal and thousands of people, including children, get injured or die every year from gun incidents. Our national income increases, but foreign aid to Third World countries stays behind. We persecute people for their choice in life-partners, the color of their skin, their gender, their heritage, the jobs they do, the cars they drive, the schools they attend. Kids get bullied for not wearing the right clothes, for being stupid _and_ for being smart. They are our future and we don't give them the proper education. There aren't enough teachers, social workers, police officers, firemen, doctors or nurses and most of the ones we do have don't get paid nearly enough." She finally took a breath, meeting the older woman's stunned eyes, "there are so many things wrong with this country Abbey and we're going to make it better, we have to, because it's a really great country."

They sat in silence for a moment while CJ tried to fight the blush rising to her cheeks. Mrs. Bartlet observed her with a frankness that made her self-conscious. She wasn't normally prone to monologues born of passion, usually she stuck to anger and frustration. The honey eyes watching her shone brightly with shock and Abigail Bartlet visibly had to pull herself together before speaking. "Well Claudia Jean," her expression turned soft and there was just the tiniest catch in her voice, "that's quite a list."

"Yes ma'am." Silently she berated herself, having once more forgotten the boundaries between herself and her boss by proxy. She'd never been good in maintaining strictly professional ties with coworkers, much less observe the boundaries of proper manners and respect. Bosses were human like the rest of them, prone to mistakes and general stupidity as much as anyone else and she tended to treat them accordingly. So far, it had often worked in her advantage and earned her a reputation as loyal, but brutally honest. It occurred to her once more, that working for the President of the United States, might be a bit of a different ball game. "I really need to work on that," she murmured before catching herself.

Abbey blinked. "Work on what?"

"Observing the proper protocol, I can't keep shooting off my mouth like this; especially not once we're in the White House."

In reply, the other woman simply shook her head. "No, no, Claudia, don't change a thing."

She chose to ignore the compliment, if only to keep from pointing out that whether they liked it or not, whether they wanted it to or not, things would have to change after Election Day. Instead she gingerly unfolded her legs and rose from the chair, thinking it smart to leave the room before getting herself into real trouble. "I should go back to work, ma'am."

"For the love of God, Claudia, drop the ma'am, it's just Abbey. We've been over this, but it looks like we'll have to again. I expect you over for dinner tonight, eight thirty."

It was hard to say no to Abigail Bartlet, the governor's wife made sure of that, but CJ still had to try. "Due respect, Abbey, I have a lot to do for the press conference on Health and Education Thursday."

Abigail shrugged and stood up to show her out. "Nine thirty then, my husband is going to be tied up in a meeting with democratic heavy weights and it's been a while since we had a girls' night in. Judging by those circles under your eyes, you could use a little time away from Huey, Dewey and Louie." CJ guffawed and reluctantly acknowledged that she really could do with a few hours without Toby, Josh or Sam harassing her. The Doctor grabbed her hand and squeezed, her smile broadening. "See you tonight."

"Yes ma'am," she quickly darted into the hallway, grinning at Abbey's indignant exclamation of her full name as it trailed after her.


	11. Chapter eleven

_A/N_: I know it's a bit short, but I hope you'll enjoy anyway :) The next one'll be longer, promise! By the way, should anyone feel inclined to help me out with some season five factoids, please don't hesitate to drop a pm or e-mail. Thanks!

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Tempus plus** five hours, fifty-one minutes and eight seconds

Leo McGarry took pride in being unflappable. After a war, a failed marriage, an alcohol dependency and a standing invitation to Washington's political cesspool, he'd seen all there was too see. He'd heard the most far-fetched of arguments and witnessed democracy in all its stupidity. Enemies, both foreign and domestic had taken his feet out from under him in the political arena and shot him out of the sky in the real world.

Nothing took him by surprise anymore because there were no surprises left and sometimes that knowledge made him feel older than his years.

So perhaps it should be a comfort to him that there were still a few unexpected happenings lurking in the shadows. If only they not had a habit of bringing bad news. Whatever comfort he was looking for – and in all honesty, times like these called desperately for the comfort of a drink, but then so did all other times – was nowhere to be found as he trailed through the corridors of the GW.

He'd not been prepared for the sudden flood of memories. The Rosslyn incident was far behind them and though someone occasionally brought it up in conversation or debate, the emotions from that night were tucked away safely, or so he thought.

That night, there'd only been White House staff and security to occupy the Doctors and nurses. The halls had been filled with the sound of an entire nation holding its breath, the streets lined with Americans holding a vigil for their President and his family. He remembered the shock in Zoey's eyes, the anger in Abbey's and the barely hidden fear in the President's.

Tonight he saw a waiting room filled with people through the window and had to greet only a handful of Secret Service agents. There was no code blue, no complete lockdown and instead of the whole hospital, they had one floor of a wing to conduct their business and stand by a fallen comrade. He'd come in through the back entrance with only a small security detail to avoid drawing attention and disrupting the work being done. He'd not yet spoken to a Doctor, but was about to.

Abigail Bartlet glanced at the door at the sound of a knock and was a little surprised to see Leo hesitantly stepping into the small waiting room. Rather than speak, he nodded a greeting, which she returned in kind.

The row of chairs jarred slightly when he sat down and she took the opportunity to study his face. Leo and Jed knew each other since forever and she wasn't far behind. It pained her to see the toll of these five years in office on his face and reminded her cruelly of the matching set of worry lines her husband wore.

"Any news?" He asked at last, his voice unsteady.

Abbey shook her head and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "No, it'll be a while."

"She's already been under for five hours."

Taking hold of his hand, she tried not to flinch under his unforgiving eyes. "She's going to be a lot longer than that, Leo."

"Yeah."

She didn't like it anymore than he did, hated the hours of waiting and wondering, trying so hard to ignore the cautionary voice whispering in the back of her head. They'd escaped before. Rosslyn, the kidnapping and various death threats –some more serious than others- in between. They couldn't keep dodging the bullet, in fact, they hadn't. CJ'd taken three of them, just as many as Simon Donovan had taken a year ago, and if the pattern continued… They'd survived Rosslyn, but lost Mrs. Landingham a year later. Agent Donovan had taken three bullets and not lived to tell the tale. Thank the Lord Zoey had lived to tell hers. They were two for two and closing in on the last half of the latest match.

Leo squeezed her fingers. "She's a fighter."

"Yeah." She wondered if he too thought back to the weeks after the MS story broke, when CJ'd walked around with slumped shoulders and an expression of weariness and exhaustion that never lifted. "It didn't make the news yet."

He shook his head, elbows resting on tweed covered knees. "There was no press in the building when it happened and the ambulance and motorcade didn't use sirens until they were a few blocks away." It struck her that she actually found it comforting to hear him slip into Chief of Staff mode, his voice crisp and to the point. "There have been a few calls about a motorcade pulling up to the hospital and a few questions about the closure of this wing, but so far the questions have been fielded. Sam'll inform the press during the morning briefing."

"She'd hate to be the story."

"Good thing she won't be hearing it then," his smile was wry. "What do you know?"

She sighed and shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "They haven't told me much. One bullet grazed her neck and tore through a secondary vein; they cauterized the wound to stop the bleeding. Right now they're working to get the bullet out of her leg and repair the collapsed lung." There was more to it, of course, but it wouldn't do either of them any good to speak of femoral arteries, exit wounds, artery transplants, nerve damage and thrombosis or gangrene. Medical license or not, she couldn't stop diagnosing and worrying about possible pitfalls. "What did the Secret Service find?" She meant to distract herself, but regretted the question as soon as Leo answered.

"She was being stalked." Her mouth opened of its own accord, ready to speak words her mind hadn't processed, but they died in her throat. Leo just looked at her sympathetically as if he knew every thought that went through her head. "I brought you a change of clothes," he gestured at the bag by the door, "the President and Ron are coming up soon. Josh called her brothers, but he wants to talk to you before calling her dad in the morning."

"Of course, of course," and then to think that the only tiny bit of comfort she'd had tonight was that for once, she didn't have to be the bearer of bad news. Just then the doors opened and a nurse gingerly stepped inside, his expression familiar to anyone who'd spent any time in a hospital. Abbey gripped Leo's hand tightly, her heart hammering in her throat. It was too soon, far too soon for the surgery to be over.


	12. Chapter twelve: summer 1998

_A/N:_ I'm loving the reviews guys, thank you so much! And I love leaving you hanging too ;) Rory, I'd like to know everything of course – but that'll have to wait till I get around to watching the DVDs, in the mean time anything with personnel assignments, important guest spots & character development would be very helpful. I guess I kinda need a beta specifically for canon factoids, so feel free to drop me a pm (or anyone else interested in helping out). Thanks! Now, on with the story… it's a long chapter, so I hope there's something in there for everyone :)

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**Tempus minus** two months, twenty-seven days, one hour and thirty-one minutes

"You saw that?"

Abbey nodded, pleased with the utter dread on her companion's face. CJ's mouth hung open, her eyes wide with horror while her fork hovered halfway between her plate and mouth, a slippery strand of spaghetti inching closer to the table with each passing moment. "I wanted to check if Josh was okay. He looked a little green going out and you two stayed out for quite a while." She paused to watch CJ squirm in her seat. "Turns out I needn't have worried."

Slowly the tall woman returned her fork to the heap of spaghetti without taking a bite. "It's not what you think."

"Really? 'Cause it looked like a really good kiss."

"It was," CJ replied after a big swallow of wine, "but he's Josh."

"Josh is a good looking man."

"He's Josh."

She laughed at the sharp response. "And here I thought you two were sneaking off for more than just kisses the whole time."

CJ's expression quickly turned to one of distaste. "God no!"

"You call him 'mi amore'."

"I call Toby 'pokey', wanna analyze that one?"

Abbey took another bite of the nicely done salmon, noting with a little disappointment CJ'd overcome her embarrassment. "Not really, though speaking of Toby…"

"Don't go there Abigail."

Blue eyes shot warnings that were hard to miss, but she couldn't resist. Jed usually locked himself up in his study when she was in moods like this. It'd been a while since she had a willing plaything. "Have you been there?"

"Abbey!"

"Well?"

"I hear Leo requested a change of rooms."

The non-sequitur threw her for a moment. "Why?"

There was a brief quirk to CJ's red lips. "His is adjacent to yours; he claims to have trouble sleeping with two bunnies next door."

Her mouth fell open of its own accord and it took her a moment to regroup under CJ's laughing eyes. "Oh that, I think it's the whips that frighten him."

To her surprise, her companion didn't fold. "Funny, I always thought you were more of a paddle-girl."

"Canes, actually," she narrowed her eyes, "and let me guess, handcuffs?"

"Nipple clamps."

"I'm sure Josh and Toby like those." Easily she dodged the napkin flying her way, finally succeeding in bringing a blush to Claudia's cheeks by pointedly staring at the other woman's chest.

"Okay, fine," she smoothed her hands through wild curls, "you win, can we change the subject?"

"Why did you kiss him?" CJ visibly resigned herself to the question, Abbey observed triumphantly. The woman gave as good as she got, but it felt good to come out on top. She suspected that working closely with Josh, Toby and Sam – and Leo and Jed to boot – quickly immunized one against these types of conversations.

"It was months ago Abbey, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I'm surprised I've never heard Sam comment."

A smile flashed across CJ's features, wiped away by the napkin remaining on her end of the table. "Josh likes to stay in one piece."

"I can imagine." At that moment, she regretted not being part of the 'in' group. She hadn't been a witness to CJ's temper – not in all its dubious glory – but she'd heard the stories, seen the aftermath and patched up the wounded. Earlier that day during their confrontation, she'd seen glimpses and heard the frustration in her voice, but there hadn't been a full out eruption. Just a little smoke dotting the sky.

She thought of Jed, the way he could seem so calm and blow up without apparent warning. Oh, of course there were warnings, but only a few people knew him well enough to recognize them. And out of those few, only she was privy to the explosive and utterly delightful aftermath. Struck by an odd thought, she watched the taller woman finish her dinner.

Claudia Jean was one of those few, which was surprising because they'd only known her for a relatively short while. Sure CJ was easy to like and she knew Jed appreciated her candid honesty as much as she did, but what if there was more? She was smart, unconventionally beautiful and so young…

Quickly Abbey berated herself for such stupid thoughts. Her husband was no idiot, and neither was CJ. How could she even think--? "More wine?" It must be hormones talking. Joking aside, the campaign schedule was murder for one's sex life and her body felt the strain.

"No thanks, I have a briefing in the morning."

"Suit yourself." She filled up her own glass and waited patiently for the waiter to take away their empty plates. "You spun the story nicely."

CJ shrugged. "That's what you pay me for."

"Still, I wouldn't be surprised if it'll actually win us a few votes. Which, really, I—"

But CJ easily saw through the ruse and laughed softly. "Don't tell me you were aiming for that all along."

"And why not?" She may not be a political mastermind, but she had her fair share of experience and Doctors were used to spinning progress reports to blunt the edges of bad news.

On the other end of the table, Claudia threw her hands up in mock defense. "Because I've gotten to know you and you say these things spontaneously, which," she added quickly, not oblivious to Abbey's touchy ego, "is not to say you wouldn't have come up with the same solution – but you didn't think of it beforehand."

Not trusting herself to speak, mostly because Claudia was right, but also because it unnerved her to have been read so easily, Abigail crossed her arms and observed. Normally this stance worked on the nerves of whomever she directed it at and she knew it to be effective because it'd worked on CJ on occasion too. Not so now. The younger woman simply stared back with a hint of amusement in clear blue eyes, not at all intimidated.

"You got what you wanted though."

"What do you mean?" Genuinely surprised, Abbey put down her glass and studied her companion anew, this time searching for clues.

CJ shrugged and kept her voice plain. "You forced us to talk about fighting HIV and about things we could be doing with the money, other than decrease the national deficit." She might put on a detached façade, but Abbey knew better. They often had heated discussions about US aid to Third World countries and human rights in countries like Qumar, Sudan and Iraq. Those topics generally brought out the passionate feminist in CJ, though she suspected there was more to the story. On days those topics came up, Claudia Jean Cregg stormed through her day, leaving everyone spinning in her wake. Josh had taken to calling her "shiksa feminista" behind her back whenever she was in such a mood. She eagerly anticipated the day he'd misspeak – and he would – so she could see CJ's reaction, or at least hear about it second-hand.

"You guys talk about a lot of things."

"Abbey," she met the other woman's eyes, surprised by the sudden gentleness in her voice, "you know we appreciate your input right?" She could help but snort. Yeah, right. CJ's eyes hardened. "Even if we don't use it straight way, even if Leo and Toby declare it unrealistic, you get them thinking."

"Don't humor me, Claudia."

But Claudia shook her head empathically, "I'm not. You get them thinking and they take that with them and days, or weeks, or maybe even years later, they'll use it."

"It shouldn't take that long."

"Everything takes long in politics."

"Everything, but a scandal."

"I wonder when we'll have our first one," CJ mused quietly, her voice hinting at hours of speculating and worrying about how to react.

"I'm sure I could help you out with that, we could plan it in advance. How does January twenty-fourth sound to you?" She had a few tricks up her sleeve after all, one in particular that might prove too hard to spin even for her husband's brilliant and dedicated staff.

"That won't be necessary, but thank you for the offer," the lightness in her voice didn't quite reach her eyes. "You'll have your own office and staff when we get to the White House, you could do a lot of good."

"Yeah, you're right, it just seems far away." And it was; every time they received a heads up about a story, she worried the MS got leaked and this campaign would be over before the finish line ever came into sight. Across of her, CJ appeared quite content and relaxed, which brought on more guilt. There'd been a few fights between her and Jed about whether or not they should tell the staff and she felt bad keeping them out of the loop.

They were so young, Sam and Claudia Jean especially, and already they'd walk through fire for her husband even though they'd only known him for little over a year. It didn't seem fair for them to put in these long days and late hours, work their butts off getting someone elected who might not be able to fulfill a four year term.

Instantly she scrubbed that thought away. Chances were he'd be symptom free for the full four years, although he'd already had one episode during the campaign. And even if there was an episode, if caught on time it wouldn't appear to be much more than the flu. Really, he would be a magnificent President, she had no doubt of that, and a few sick days wouldn't change that. She had to believe that, had to remind herself that he was sick, but not terminal, he'd still be with her for a long, long time.

"You okay?"

The vocal interruption startled her. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine."

CJ's eyes narrowed, "really? You drifted off there for a second."

Flustered under the unwelcome scrutiny Abbey sipped her wine to steady herself. "Must be the wine." She could tell CJ didn't buy the excuse, but she also didn't press the issue or break the sudden silence. Abbey did at last, if only to silence the whispers of guilt and fear. "What if we win?"

"I don't know, I mean, I've only been in the White House twice: once with an excursion from Berkeley and once for EMILY's List."

"We've been there for a number of dinners – most of them dreadfully boring – but I can't imagine living there."

"There are perks," Claudia pointed out, an endearing amount of trepidation in her voice, "instead of an overcrowded campaign bus we'll have Air Force One, which – so I've been told – is quite a ride. There's a fully equipped kitchen with a staff of six at the President's beck and call. You won't have to worry about parking spots, or being late to work. There's a Presidential tailor, a housekeeping staff and of course the Joint Chiefs and the codes to the US nuclear arsenal."

"That'll come in handy when Zoey starts dating," she mused, grateful for the reprieve, but still unable to shake the anxiety. "There won't be much privacy, will there?"

CJ chewed on the inside of her mouth and shook her head. "Between constant coverage by various media outlets, the guards, secret service and a permanent following of drooling politicians trying to kiss up, probably not."

"Yeah, I thought as much." The notion worried her more than she'd like to admit. She'd never done well under supervision, much less under scrutiny. When Jed was just a run-of-the-mill governor, she was troubled by the media attention and it had taken every inch of self-control not to rebel against the boxes they tried to put her family in. Her daughters should be free of the pressure from national media. They should be able to go out and drink – and, God forbid, do all the stuff normal adolescents did – without being made a national example. Already she'd accepted that her own career would have to take a backseat for four years, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to be the First Lady and always smile and be polite, even if she felt like killing everyone in sight.

A touch – Claudia's hand on top of hers, startled her out of her musings. She met the other woman's eyes and felt empowered by the conviction she found there. "You'll do fine," CJ insisted, "and for the times you slip up, or your husband does, we'll be there to spin the stories and redirect attention."

"Don't laugh at me," she warned seriously, "but that we need people to spin our slip-ups scares me."

"It's a daunting prospect," CJ admitted easily, "and you can't exactly prepare." How was it that she didn't appear to be at all daunted? Sure, no one else would be The President, but the lives of his Staff were set to change almost as much as hers.

"I've resigned myself to storing away my career for four years—"

"Or eight."

"—but what about our marriage, our family?" The uncertainty hit her full force, no thanks to the wine, and not for the first time in recent memory, the absence of her mother snuck up on her. They'd always had a close relationship, even if they didn't see eye-to-eye on a variety of issues. Her parents' marriage had lasted fifty-six year, until her father died and her mom was always quick with reassurances and advice.

"I've never met someone as protective of his family as your husband." Abbey was grateful for her friend's reassurance and her presence all together. She could tell rancid jokes with the best of them – she'd been married to Jed for thirty years – but these quiet dinners were a lovely reprieve from strategizing, campaigns and politics. "He's already made it clear his family comes first, no matter what."

"You're right, of course," she acknowledged and laughed when realization hit her. "I'm getting cold feet."

CJ laughed heartily and loudly, "we were wondering when you'd join us. Toby's been trying to convince Andi to pack up and move to Tombouctou and Sam's not so sure anymore about giving up a cushy legislative job. Even Leo's wondering why the hell he ever went into politics."

For a moment she thought CJ was kidding. She'd never seen a group of people more dedicated than Sam, Leo and Toby. Then again, if they won the election they were in for a world of chronic stress and responsibility. "What about you?"

CJ shrugged, her expression turned soft with a lopsided smile, "I didn't have anything to lose to begin with, so I'll just stick around and keep the lot of you sane."

"Sane?"

"Or," the smile transformed into a wicked grin, "at least keep everyone out of straightjackets."

"Well, Claudia Jean," it'd be quite a feat for any of them to reach the election with any semblance of sanity left, but at least she was in excellent company. "When you're on sane patrol, one has to wonder..."

CJ nodded earnestly, but with an unsettling glint in her eye "just think, in another five months we'll be running the country."

"Oh Lord, help us all." It really wouldn't be so bad, would it?


	13. Chapter thirteen

_A/N:_ I know I keep saying it, but thank you all for the reviews, they're lovely! The title will be explained in story, promise :)

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**Tempus plus** six hours and eleven minutes

Changing her clothes proved a welcome distraction for the First Lady, even if it only took five minutes. Her mind was still reeling, trying to process the information given by the nurse. Something that used to be a second nature to her, now came as natural as the four-inch stiletto's that lined her closet wall in the Residence.

With a little effort she closed the final button of the black slacks, making a mental note to up her work-out routine and silently grateful that Leo had brought her comfortable clothes. Adjusting her bra and buttoning up the burgundy blouse, she studied her reflection, startled by how old she appeared. Of course she wasn't wearing make-up and her hair was far from styled, or even combed, but still, when the hell had the years snuck up on her?

Now self-conscious, she stepped out into the empty corridor, nodding curtly at the two guards waiting for her. Together they crossed to the small waiting room. "Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"You didn't happen to bring my make-up, did you?"

"You know what, I didn't." His mouth quirked and she recognized the gentle affection in his eyes, "but you can borrow mine." His tone stopped just short of actual humor and though she appreciated the effort, she could only manage a halfhearted smile in return.

Struggling to find some words of comfort or fake levity, she was saved by the door swinging open. On instinct, she launched herself into her husband's arms, soaking up the familiar comfort of his embrace. It was this physical assurance she'd missed most after Zoey's ordeal when he was too busy resuming his Presidency to be her husband and before she fled far from the things of Man.

Jed squeezed her tightly and kissed the top of her hair and directed his question to Leo. "Any news?"

Though she couldn't see their friend, she recognized the reluctance in his voice and knew he couldn't look at her or her husband. "She went into cardiac arrest," Jed stiffened against her, his heartbeat loud and mercifully strong to her ears, "they got her back, but she'd not doing too well."

He huffed, "of course she's not doing well, she'd got three damn bullets in her body!"

"One," she corrected and stepped back to catch his glowering gaze.

Helpless she watched her husband struggle to control his emotions. When had she forgotten how to calm him? It used to take no more than a look, a simple sign of understanding. Since Zoey's kidnapping everything was different and while she felt it shouldn't be, she was powerless to change it. The disappearance of their youngest and Jed subsequently handing over the Presidency left deep scars in her family and in his staff as well.

"Okay," he said at last, "what else?"

Though she still couldn't see him, she felt Leo's eyes on her back. Bracing herself, she took Jed's hands in hers, gently nudging him to sit down. "She's not handling the surgery as well as they expected." In her years as an intern and Doctor she'd given hundreds of these reports, some more emotional than others. She felt out of practice. "The Doctors suspect malnutrition and a chronic lack of sleep are weakening her body's ability to cope." The tension in him increased, making the tips of her fingers tingle. "She wasn't taking very good care of herself," she finished softly. "Jed? Did you notice anything wrong with her?"

"She took Zoey's kidnapping hard," Leo said quietly from behind him, "worked non-stop."

"You all did," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but with CJ it's different, obsessive. She'll micromanage and mother."

So that was it. Her and CJ'd become friends during the first campaign and often sought out each other's company, but in recent months they'd spoken almost daily. Even after she'd lashed out at the younger woman, Claudia wouldn't let up. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she pushed, "and after?"

"I don't know," he hesitated, "in retrospect, maybe she was a little off, but then…" he trailed off.

"But then what, Leo?"

"It was summer," Jed explained tersely, "and we haven't had the best of summers since nineteen ninety-eight."

Unable to think of a reply, Abbey sat back. Unwillingly she recalled catching some of CJ's briefings on tv after fleeing to Manchester, angry that the world kept turning as usual while she'd almost lost her youngest daughter. Angry that her husband was soothing the fears of his country, but not hers and angry that her best friend could stand in front of cameras and speak of diplomacy, proportional response and justice when the animals that had taken Zoey didn't deserve either.

"Ron?" Leo called when no one else spoke, "a stalker?"

"Yes sir. We found several threats on Miss Cregg's computer and the shooter's apartment yielded a number of photographs."

"Is this at all related to last year…?"

The grey-haired operative nodded solemnly. "Yes, the two stalkers are step-brothers."

"Why the hell didn't she tell us?"

She turned around to offer Leo support, too stunned to speak, but halted when she felt her husband's eyes on her. "Jed?"

"Did she say anything to you Abbey? Any indication that something was up?"

"No," she would've remembered that, "but I haven't been around much."

"Yeah," she cringed at the sadness in his voice, her wounded King Lear, "but you spoke."

Guilt crept up on her again. Claudia Jean had been a rock during the aftermath, providing what support she could for Abbey and her daughter, for which Abbey was incredibly grateful. Could the threats have been going on all this time? And why would CJ not have warned the Secret Service? She _knew_…

"Abbey?"

"No, no, she hadn't said anything. She seemed just fine."

"You talked daily."

"God Jed, you saw her every day! Why didn't you see something was wrong? What happened to your extraordinary gifts of observation and deduction, Mister President?!"

"Abbey…"

"No Leo! How many more victims is this Administration going to require? How many more narrow escapes before it's enough?" She hated her voice for breaking, hated the fury boiling in her gut with nowhere to go.

Silence prevailed.

Abbey regretted her outburst, fights wouldn't help CJ any and truth to be told, Jed was right. During her stay in Manchester, Claudia Jean had been her lifeline, a much-needed friend in a world where she couldn't trust anyone. Through the younger woman, she kept tabs on her husband and could vent her anger and fears freely.

Of course, she'd asked how the other woman was doing, but the answer was always the same: 'tired but fine,' and she didn't push or sputter when the subject changed back to Zoey. Now she knew CJ couldn't have been fine. "Ron?" Instantly she had the attention of all three men. "The stalker, any idea how long he…"

"A week or two before the shooting incident in April."

"Is there a connection?" Leo asked before she could.

The agent shook his head and she envied the calm he portrayed. "Nothing we've been able to determine so far, but we're interviewing the April-shooter again in a few hours."

"Why would anyone go after her?" She was aware of the thousands of threats against the Presidential family and White House staff, but the determined ones certainly seemed to go after Claudia.

"You should be getting back Mr. President," Leo suggest gently, "Abbey, why don't you go with him."

"I'd rather stay, someone should be here."

"I'll stay, I delegated everything to the Staff to keep them occupied," he grinned darkly, "I have nothing to do and I think they'd feel better if you gave them an update and," he winked at her, "you could fetch your make-up."

Despite the situation, a small smile tugged at her lips. CJ's surgery would last at least fifteen more hours and she was sure the boys were going crazy with worry. "All right," she agreed, but didn't accept her husband's hand as they made their way to the Presidential limousine.


	14. Chapter fourteen: autumn 1998

_A/N:_ Sorry I'm a little late this week. I had a chapter all ready to go, but then decided that it needed a little run up, so here it is…

* * *

**Tempus minus** five years two months, one day, sixteen hours and fifty-five minutes

Toby Ziegler meant to be waiting for her and had in fact spent minutes he couldn't really spare loitering around in the hall. It was a bit of a novelty to watch much of the campaigners roll into the Bartlet for America national headquarters. When at all possible he tried to ensure some sort of barrier – he wasn't picky, a closed door was just fine – between himself and the arriving volunteers and interns to avoid dull and redundant small talk. CJ was often already at work by that time. Not so today, which offered him the chance to intercept his friend before she made it to the media office.

But then Ginger tracked him down with a call waiting from his counterpart at Donaldson's campaign and new notes from the Governor on the debate-issues – most of which were respectably discarded within seconds – and he only heard CJ slam her door shut.

Now he was back to loitering around in the hall. The door to her office was open again, but now he had to wait for Josh to leave. In the meantime, while he certainly didn't mean to eavesdrop – he wasn't actually interested in whatever his colleagues had to say to each other – he overheard the tail end of their conversation and found himself silently agreeing with Leo's right hand. "CJ, it's no big deal."

"It'll cost us votes." The weariness in her voice surprised him, he'd been expecting anger and frustration.

"Meh, if people switch sides because of what you said, we didn't want their votes in the first place."

"Gee Josh, I'm not sure if you just demeaned our constituents, or me."

The following silence spoke volumes and it didn't take long before Josh stepped backwards into the corridor. "Yeah, you know what, I have work to do." He turned on his heels and hightailed out of sight.

Amused, though determined not to show that, Toby prepared to step inside only to halt his step when afamiliar voice called his name. Turning, he saw Leo McGarry approach.

"She in there?"

Reluctantly he nodded. Okay, so yes, CJ screwed up yesterday and Danny Concannon hadn't wasted time to advertise her screw-up to the public, but he knew her well enough to know that a dressing down from Leo was the last thing she needed right now.

"Oh by the way, I gave the WLC meeting to Josh."

Wait, what? "You what?"

The older man shrugged, "we need you focused on the debates, we'll leave the lobbyists for Josh to deal with."

"You put Josh in…" He couldn't… it was just… the were no words… Struggling with his thoughts, he just couldn't construct a proper sentence. Even speechwriters couldn't avoid to occasional tongue-tied moments.

"The WLC meeting, yeah."

"Have you _met_ Josh?!" Instantly he remembered last night's fight with his wife and his subsequent promise to not raise his voice for a week. Hell, Andi'd understand. He respected Joshua Lyman and the man certainly had his uses, but the WLC lobbyists were carnivores and Josh would in all likelihood be too busy to be cool to notice their fangs.

Leo's eyes narrowed. "He'll be fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"With Brenda McKenzie and Amy Gardner in one room." He'd never admit it, but it was almost… fun to see realization dawning on Leo's face.

"Amy Gardner?"

"The WLC brought her in last week to help with the—"

"Josh!" Passersby stopped dead in their tracks at the forceful exclamation. Toby merely pointed in the direction of Josh's office and watched Leo pass by CJ's door. Quietly he stepped inside the office she shared with some of her staff and carefully shut the door behind him.

She didn't look up from her paper, the lines of her face hard and unforgiving as she scanned the written words for probably the fourth or fifth time that morning. "Was that Leo?"

"Yeah," he shifted uneasily, he'd prefer it if she at least looked at him, "he was going to send Josh to the WLC meeting."

It certainly got her attention; CJ looked up from her copy of the_ Washington Post_. "Has he _met_ Josh?" Toby chose not to say anything in reply; silently pleased they were on the same wavelength. "He knows Amy's going to be there, right?" When he still didn't speak, she misjudged his motive and confessed, "I screwed up."

The role of priest wasn't one he was comfortable with, not even with her and she was one of the few people he could stand for prolonged periods of time, so he moved to cut her off. "You can fix it."

"I will fix it. If Leo doesn't fire me, anyway."

There was real fear in her voice and though he told her otherwise, he knew it wasn't completely unwarranted. The last few weeks their campaign had been disrupted by mistake after mistake and while none had been hers, hers would be the most visible to the voters. Leo was on a warpath. "Have you figured out the spin yet?"

She nodded, but didn't elaborate and instead picked up the paper again and recited, "Governor Bartlet has relied heavily in his campaign on his intellect and appears not at all worried by accusations of arrogance and book smarts. Campaign press liaison CJ Cregg however, is concerned by the candidate's 'know-it-all attitude' and is reported as saying the Governor is 'too smart to be President'".

"I've read it."

"I didn't say… I just didn't know Danny was… damn Toby, I said that in a private conversation, Danny had no part in that, he shouldn't have…" but she dropped her line of thought and rubbed her forehead. "It was stupid."

"Yeah." He threw up his hands in defense when she glared at him. "You'll do better."

"I thought I was." With practiced ease, she refolded the paper and dumped it in the trashcan next to her desk.

Before he could reply, Carol knocked and poked her head around the door, "you've got the daily press meeting in two and you're scheduled with the Governor and Leo at nine to go over tonight's appearance. Oh, and Danny wants you to call him."

CJ harrumphed, drawing her fingers through unruly curls before gathering up her files. "Figures the little coward would hide in the White House today."

"Knock 'm dead," Toby encouraged as she breezed past. She didn't verbally acknowledge him, but briefly touched his hand in passing. He resisted the urge to follow and instead returned to the office he shared with Sam. They were still working on the opening remarks for tonight's Capitol Hill appearance and Sam had apparently forgotten all about the existence of commas and periods.


	15. Chapter fifteen

_A/N:_ Sorry I'm late again. I won't bore you with the reasons and instead offer one of the longest chapters so far and… a setting! CJ gets shot two days after the shutdown of the Federal Government ends, which places the start of this story shortly after the eighth episode of the fifth season. I'm also very glad to hear I pulled off an adequate Toby in the last chapter, since I find him very difficult to write. Thank you all! And while I, of course, love the positive comments and reviews, please don't hesitate to point out screw-ups either, or offer suggestions.

Happy reading :)

* * *

**Tempus plus** seven hours and twenty-eight minutes

"What are you doing here?"

No one in their little band of three looked up at the new addition. They'd been sitting in silence in the darkened office, seeking voiceless solace amongst friends. "We saved you a seat," Josh offered weakly.

"It's my office!"

Sam almost grinned at Toby's exclamation. He missed his former boss and would say so, were it not for Toby's renowned discomfort with emotions of, well, any kind really. Though, since little Molly and Huck had made their appearance into this cruel world, the older man's cynicism now allowed for just a hint of proud daddy every once in a while "How's Andi?".

"Fine," Toby dismissed, "she wants to see CJ but can't find a sitter."

Feeling guilty for it, he held onto the safer topic of Andrea and the kids. "Thank you, for the pictures."

"You've seen pictures?" Some things never changed; at least there was comfort in that. Josh looked at him from under raised eyebrows.

"Of course. Toby e-mail---" just too late he caught Toby's glare. Oh hell.

"Toby e-mails you… wow."

"You picked a great time to stop by," the oldest man admonished not unkindly, but warm was different.

It also reminded them of the current situation and knocked the life right out of him. "Yeah."

"Is there really nothing we can do? I feel guilty sitting here while Margaret and Carol are running around." Donna fiddled nervously with her scarf, looking younger than he remembered. Still, somehow the blonde assistant appeared just a little wiser and less naïve. Sedate even and he could tell it wasn't just because of CJ.

No, Sam thought as he glanced from one familiar face to the next, they'd changed and so had he. There was a weariness in their eyes. Eyes that had seen too much fear in recent times, too many losses. He couldn't imagine what it must've been like during the days Zoey was missing. To work under a President they didn't trust, trying not to let the fear for Zoey overwhelm them. He'd spoken to each of his colleagues during the ordeal except to CJ and though he'd tried his damnest to make it out here, he hadn't been able to before now. Some timing indeed.

In his hand were the notes for the briefing. It wasn't his place to stand on that podium. Her stage. But the deputies weren't available and Will was off somewhere he couldn't quite remember. "Guys?"

"Yeah?"

"What's with…" He followed the others automatically as they stood. When he turned he found the President and his wife behind them. The First Lady now looked nothing like the perfectly groomed hostess of his welcome-home-dinner – a ridiculous notions since he'd only be around for a week.

"Hi."

They stumbled over their greetings, none of them willing to pounce the First couple with the questions dancing on their tongues.

"Is there," Toby ventured at last, wringing his hands together. "Is there any news?"

The President looked to his wife before speaking. "Abbey will fill you in, I have some calls to make." Sam tried hard not to show his surprise. He'd expected a few encouraging words, a biblical reference or two and an etymology or Latin lesson. Had things changed that much? "Sam, come see me before the briefing."

"Yes sir." He watched as the President turned on his heels and left for the Oval Office. He didn't kiss or even touch his wife and his walk, to Sam's shock, was the walk of an old man.

Mrs. Bartlet picked her way through the crowded office to the vacated desk chair, pausing briefly to touch Josh' shoulder. "CJ is still in surgery and will be for a while." They'd expected that, the memory of Josh' fifteen-hour surgery fresh in their minds, even after four years. "She's all right now, but she went into cardiac arrest a little while ago."

"A heart-attack?!" Was that his heart beating so loudly? He felt nauseous just thinking about…

"Yes," Mrs. Bartlet confirmed, "her body is under a lot of stress from the injuries and surgery." She looked like she might say more, but Josh interrupted.

"What's going to happen?"

The First Lady locked her fingers together and fixed them with a stare no doubt intended to mask her own worries. "They'll try to shorten the surgery by pushing back non-essential treatments."

"How long?" The emotional strain of this waiting game was clear in Toby's voice. Something of a rarity, but certainly understandable and oddly reassuring.

Abigail Bartlet dropped her eyes. "Possibly fourteen more hours of surgery and at least a week in ICU, after that it'll depend on Claudia."

"So we're going to need a long term repla- fill in."

Josh' head shot up. "Why? You didn't get one for me."

"Yeah," apparently Toby's emotions kicked into full gear now. Though you'd never be able to tell by his voice, Sam recognized his colleague's desperation to stick to work. "Because we can do your job."

The deputy Chief of Staff huffed. "Right. As evidenced by the hourly phone calls," Donna matched Toby's sarcasm easily.

"Sam can do it."

Caught by surprise he glanced up at his best friend. "Me?"

"Yeah," Josh leaned forward, elbows on his knees, "you know how things work around here, you know how to spin a story and the President likes you."

"Well, thanks." He struggled to find the words, something oddly frequent considering his job, "but I think Carol should be doing this briefing instead of me," he ignored Toby's frustrated groan, "she's familiar with CJ's workload, up-to-date and the press knows her."

"We have been over this!"

"Guys…"

But Mrs. Bartlet's call went ignored as Toby started pacing, wildly gesturing and not yet ready to bring his voice back down. "We can' bring in someone from outside; it'll look like we've already given up on her!"

"Toby, we—"

But Toby ploughed on, "and we're not sending Carol out there! It'll play as if we don't consider it important enough to send a senior counselor and illustrate we're crippled!"

"So you're going to send someone who's recent media appearance was as a loser?!"

Josh, as always quick to settle shouting matches between friends, jumped to his feet. "Enough. Sam will do the briefings until Henry gets back, then we'll see." His tone brokered no argument. "Mrs. Bartlet, if I could…?"

"Of course Josh." She paused in the doorway and Sam hoped she'd save him from going another ten rounds with Toby. "I know you would much rather be at the hospital, but she's going to be unconscious for a while. We just have to get through today."

"This administration's motto."

If she heard Toby's remark, she gave no sign of it. What happened to the passionate people, driven to change the country? The First Lady seemed to have the most spunk left.

He sat quietly when the others left, fully aware that one wrong word would ignite the other man's temper. Gingerly he accepted the sheet of paper held out to him and read the typed statement. Even Toby's writing was sedate, if solid. "Maybe we should –"

"No."

"Then at least change 'trusted', Press Secretaries are –"

"Trusted stays."

"Just," threading carefully he put a little more distance between them, "something a little more personal wouldn't be out of line."

Toby gestured to the frozen image of CJ on his tv. "We didn't make it personal after Rosslyn."

"Like hell we didn't, you tried to overturn the Constitution!"

"But not to the press!"

"This is ridiculous, you haven't even mentioned Haffley's address last night!" barely hanging on to his self-control, Sam stood up and headed out.

"CJ addressed it last night," Toby roared, "it shouldn't have gotten attention then and it shouldn't get it now!" His attitude, diametrically opposed to the hell raiser he morphed into after the Rosslyn incident, finally pushed Sam over the edge.

"This isn't Rosslyn, Toby! They went after CJ, after her specifically and they got her. It doesn't get more personal than that!"

Quick as he could without appearing hasty, he beat a retreat to his old office. Once inside he took a deep breath and tried to relax his taut muscles. Could he really return here? It had seemed like a good idea to out for a few days, a chance to touch base with his friends and discuss the lessons learned with the President.

Besides, he owed it to them. After all, he'd recommended Will Bailey and it was clear Toby blamed him for that. The least he could do was help out for a while, especially now that Toby appeared to be shutting down completely. He knew his friend had a sense of loyalty that was unparalleled by anyone else he'd ever known and that the attack on CJ struck at the very core of all of Toby's beliefs, passions and ambitions. And Ziegler being Ziegler, he reacted the only way familiar to him; by shutting out all of his worries and fears and focus solely on his work.

Checking his watch, he realized he had to hurry up. With the proper files under his arm, he headed to the Oval Office even though right now he'd give anything to be at the hospital.

In the bullpen Donna was gathering CJ's staff together and across the hall an open door offered a brief glimpse of the laden conversation between Josh and the First Lady. Toby's door was now closed.

Confused he glanced down the corridor he'd just traversed, surprised to find himself in front of Josh' office – they really should put up little direction signs, Secret Service be damned.

"How would you justify not telling him?" Against better judgment, Sam found himself listening in, mostly because he couldn't quite remember where to go.

"He has Alzheimer's," Josh countered with a volume that spoke, well, volumes. "He forgets who she is for hours or days at a time." Stunned he momentarily forget his predicament. Was her dad that sick?

"He's her father, Josh."

"He's not going to remember. We tell him and he's devastated, then he'll forget and we'll have to tell him again." The pregnant silence held Sam tight. His relationship with his father was only just creeping out of the black hole it'd fallen into a few years ago. He couldn't imagine having to explain to his own dad who he was. "She wouldn't want that for him. And he's too sick to fly in, there's nothing he can do anyway."

"He can pray." Heels padded softly on the carpet and he could just see the First Lady crossing the office through the crack of the door. "He probably will forget, but she's his daughter and trust me – parents always want to know where their children are and if they're all right. You can't deny him that because he's sick."

Josh sighed audibly. "She wouldn't want him to worry."

"Parents' prerogative Josh, we always worry. Go talk to the staff, I'll call her father."

"Thank you."

Caught up in ponderings of his own, Sam reacted too slowly when the door opened and he came face to face with the President's wife. "Eavesdropping Sam?"

Her tone was kind, but he knew from experience that that didn't necessarily mean anything. "Actually ma'am, I took a wrong turn on my way to the Oval." At least she _tried_ not to laugh. "Navigation isn't one of my gifts," he offered gamely.

"So I've heard." She patted his arm. "Come on, I'll take you."

"Zoey did great on Diane Mathers," he offered when the silence became too deafening.

"Thank you. CJ coached her."

"She's going to be okay right?" He blurted when they'd reached the Executive office. Mrs. Bartlet was under the best of circumstances hard to read, which was why the brief flash of fear crossing her face grabbed him by the throat.

"She has to be."

She left before he could think of something to say, leaving him to look after her until Charlie herded him into the Oval.

President Bartlet stood near the portico door, staring out. Unwilling to break the pensive silence, Sam quietly moved to his side and waited. "You picked a hell of a time to drop by, Mr. Seaborn, but," POTUS turned, looking troubled yet genuinely pleased, "we're glad you're here."

"So am I sir."

"When do you brief?"

Checking his watch, anxiety struck. "Ten minutes."

"Toby relayed the Secret Service's concerns?"

"Yes sir. We won't disclose the location of the incident or divulge specifics yet."

The President pulled a piece of folded paper from his breast pocket and handed it over. "I'd like you to read this at the briefing. I stayed away from Latin, don't worry."

Carefully he unfolded the note, not surprised to find it handwritten, and scanned the words. This was the leader he remembered. The words passionate and personal without neglecting the bigger picture. "I'd be honored to."

"You know, next time someone pulls out the 'English as the national language' card, I'm gonna push for mandatory Latin lessons in all schools."

"That'll be a hit."

Bartlet looked at him oddly, as if he'd forgotten there was someone else in the room. "I had a discussion one," swallowing a sarcastic remark, Sam sat down as indicated. "Someone claimed that the Romans derived much of their language and culture from the Greeks. What would you say to that?"

"Well, technically—" okay, so maybe he hadn't been around much in the last year, but he still knew _that_ look. "Latin is the only one of the ancient languages commonly used in the modern world." He almost missed the President's approving nod, privately smarting at the improvised save.

"That's what I should've said."

"Sir?"

"Never mind. Are you ready for the briefing?"

Sam shrugged uncomfortably. "I get why CJ wore herself out practicing before your inaugurations."

The other man chuckled humorlessly. "You'll do fine, just remember that fourth rule."

"'Respect the press, even if you feel like banging their heads together, bore them to death by exposing them to the full brunt of the President's trivial knowledge and dump their bodies into the Potomac.'"

"Yeah, I think I wasn't supposed to know about that one."

"I think she'd just as easily say it to your face… sir."

That at last brought a genuine smile to the older man's face, his expression for long moments torn between affection and worry. "Make her proud Sam."

No small feat, he thought nervously, but resolved not to follow the examples set by Josh and Toby. "I'll do my best, Mr. President."

There hadn't been many times during his years in the White House when the Oval Office remotely resembled a sanctuary, but as soon as he found himself out in the hallway – acutely aware of the waiting journalists just a few yards away – he wished he could go back in and hide-out until CJ got back.

Instead he dragged himself to his office where Carol rattled off items added to the meeting and reminded him of CJ's fourth rule. He stared at the clipboard suddenly in his hands. It wasn't CJ's, hers had been lying on her desk covered in her blood.

The thought still lingered in his mind when Carol wished him luck and pushed him through an open door into the pressroom. He registered the first seconds of stunned confusion before suddenly the whole room was calling his name.

Holding on tightly to the wooden stand, Sam took a deep breath and braced himself. "Settle down!"

Most of them listened, but a few called out nonetheless. "Sam? Where's CJ?"

"I have a source saying the President's motorcade pulled up at GW, is the President all right?"

"Does the White House have additional comments on Haffley's address to the NRA last night?"

Ignoring them, he dutifully read out the first lines of his memo. "Today is November twenty-sixth and this is the White House daily morning-briefing. I am Sam Seaborn, senior counselor to President Bartlet, filling in for Press Secretary CJ Cregg."


	16. Chapter sixteen: autumn 1998

_A/N:_ I'm so sorry for being late again, my only excuse is that work and school have been rather hectic. On the plus side, now you won't have to wait so long for the next chapter ;)  
I also wanted to thank you all for the reviews last time. I've been struggling a little with the chosen format myself, it seemed like a good idea at the time because I wanted to include post-ep pieces for earlier seasons, but I got a little stuck in pre-election time and to rectify that I'm going to speed it up.  
Thank you all again for the reviews and please, feel free to keep the suggestions coming, I usually try to do something with them since you as readers have a far more objective view of this story than I do.

* * *

**Tempus minus** five years one month, twenty-three days, twelve hours and two minutes

"Leo! We've gotta—"

"Not now CJ!"

She flinched visibly, but to his surprise didn't back off. "Yes now! It has to be now."

"I'm hearin' ya," he placated, trying futilely to keep his voice down, "but between the debates - which, in case you haven't noticed, aren't going all that great -, meetings with the leadership and truckloads of damn lobbyists we don't have time for—"

"Then we'll have to make time."

"How did we get stuck with this?" He really didn't want to spend any time on this yet – not that it'd take much, but still – but she'd stood up to him and he knew she still struggled with that. CJ might have one of the most brilliant minds when it came to polling and dealing with the media, she was still young and let her inexperience throw her off. The least he could do was listen to her when she displayed a backbone. Confident staffers made fewer mistakes.

"It's going to be close Leo, you know that."

"We'll win."

"Yeah," she locked her eyes with his over the top of her glasses, "but we have to keep the momentum going. We have to show people that we're ready to govern the country, not just ready to talk about governing."

Realizing he couldn't just brush her off, he sat down and motioned for her to do the same. She didn't, which wasn't much of a surprise. CJ Cregg rarely sat down; she always looked ready to sprint off at any moment. "I'd say we have plenty of issues and game plans that show just that."

"Yes," the young staffer agreed, "but no one to execute them."

"How about the President!"

She didn't dignify his snap remark with a comeback, instead fixing him with a calm blue gaze. "We have to project confidence and leadership, not just in our campaign and the election, but especially in running the White House. What kind of message does it send if we don't show the voters we're prepared to take over the White House?"

Okay, so she had a point. "You think we need to announce who's going to fill key White House positions?"

"No, absolutely not." Surprised, he sat a little straighter. What the hell, hadn't she just been pleading for--? "CJ…"

Heeding his warning, she ducked her head and answered, "we can't announce, that'll just be arrogant since we haven't won the election yet, but you should sit down with the Governor, McNally and Fitzwallace."

"Oh yeah, 'cause that won't look like we're trying to influence them at all!"

She looked away for a second, no doubt reliving her last blunder. "It'll show we're serious about getting to work."

"CJ…" he really wanted this conversation to end. Two of the three debates were behind them and neither had gone well, that's where their focus needed to be right now. "We _can't_ sit down with them, you know that."

"Why not?" He glanced back up at her. "I'm not saying you need to discuss national threats or nuclear subs. You've known them for a long time, talk about maple syrup or shampoo for all I care."

"And then what?"

She grinned easily, not at all perturbed by the low threat in his voice. "You don't have to talk for hours and you should do it somewhere neutral. I'll make sure the press sees it."

"You don't think the press will speculate we're exercising undue influence?"

Her smile broadened and the predatory gleam in her eyes didn't escape him. "Maybe, but then we'll have an opportunity to refute that in a briefing and explain to the voters that they're best off with a candidate who makes a sincere effort to know every part of the government even if he doesn't get elected."

He considered her proposed strategy; a little uncomfortable and not quite convinced they could control the press. If it worked, on the other hand, it'd win them some votes of patriotic middle-aged men who had little faith in a candidate without military experience. "Okay, I'll take it to the Governor."

With a small nod she acknowledged his approval and started to head for the door, before hesitantly turning back. "Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to talk with him."

This, he'd been dreading. "I don't want to distract him anymore from tonight's debate." He could tell she was about to object, giving him no other option. "CJ, he doesn't want to see you, if it'd been up to him, you'd still be back in Washington."

To her credit, she didn't look hurt or taken aback. "I screwed up Leo, but we got Uncle Fluffy for the first debate and Professor Bartlet for the second. We need the Presidential candidate tonight or we can all pack our bags and go home."

"He's ignored you during prep."

"And w- I've let him. If he wants to win, he'll listen."

Not quite convinced, he agreed nonetheless. They didn't really have anything to lose. "I'll talk to him."

Half an hour later, CJ was no longer as sure about her plan. From behind his desk, Jed Bartlet eyed her coldly when she entered his office. "Governor."

"Ms. Cregg."

Without an invitation to sit down, she stayed on her feet and in doing so was too aware of her own height and the unpleasant conversation waiting for her, to relax. Subconsciously she let her shoulders slump, losing a few crucial inches. Before she'd entered, she had her opening lines all worked out in her head, but they evaporated under the cold blue of his eyes. "I, uh, wanted to… talk about, the debate. Tonight's debate, sir," she stammered at last.

"You didn't come to apologize?"

"No, sir." He sat just a little straighter. "Danny Concannon took my comments out of context." Not to mention that she'd profusely apologized for screwing up as soon as the article hit the shelves.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, but that's not why I'm here." Though he still appeared far from friendly, her nerves were abating. They needed to win this and she in particular had nothing to lose. "We need to talk about the final debate."

As she'd expected, he waved her off. "I'm prepped."

"Yes sir, but maybe you're a little too prepped."

When he looked at her, CJ drew on all her training and experience to withstand his scrutinizing gaze without faltering. Guilt and embarrassment over her earlier screw-up gnawed at her defenses. During the course of this campaign, she'd had her moments of doubt, unsure if this man really should be their next President.

Though she didn't consider herself naïve, she had to admit to a certain level of optimistic idealism. Josiah Bartlet wouldn't be a perfect President and she tended to strife for perfection. With Leo's experience and temperance, with Toby's refusal to accept anything other than passion and dedication and Josh's energy and willingness to play the game, Bartlet would be not perfect, but excellent and she knew she could settle for that.

"Care to explain that accusation, Claudia Jean?"

Choosing to ignore the passive-aggressive tone – one of the habits she'd picked up from Abigail – CJ nodded and carefully relaxed her body to lessen any threatening or aloof body language. "The voters know you're smart, sir, and I have no doubt they believe you to be a principled man who will try his best."

"Any time you feel like moving on from quoting the poll results…"

"Sir," his abrasive attitude started to irritate her. She'd created those polls, he knew that and she was here to help him win, he knew that too. Was this man really going to let his hurt ego stand in the way of her advice? "You need to show them you can lead, that you aren't willing to settle for 'good enough'."

Obviously angered, Bartlet stood up. "When have I _ever_ settled for good enough?!" In that brief moment, she thanked Toby for his frequent outbursts – having experienced those was the only thing that kept her from taking a step back.

She'd expected anger, but not this suddenly. Regrouping, CJ knew there was no other choice to stick to her argument. "The debates were good enough." When he made no further move, she continued, "the people got to know you. You showed them a quiet, introspective side during the first debate and laid out the smarts in the second. Neither disappointed the voters, as the subsequent polls reflect, but you didn't convince them either. You held back. Don't worry about prep tonight, or about appearing smart or arrogant, you need to knock them off their socks."

She took a deep breath and waited, watching emotions flicker across his face. "As I recall, you were the one who accused me of being too smart to be President."

"Yes sir. People don't like a know-it-all and the smartest kid in class is rarely the most popular." Most of them had personal experiences that supported her theory, but at the same time, she'd come to realize that for a President, people deserved nothing less than the smartest and wisest, even if he might come off as a little arrogant. Now she just had to believe that the majority of Americans agreed with her. "But I also know that I personally never believe in you more than when you're raising hell and refuse to back down from your principles and ideas."

The anger in his eyes finally faded into a shimmer of passion. "You want me to ignore the polls?"

"And Toby," she added with a wink.

Bartlet chuckled and fiddled with his glasses, "if only I could."

Whatever else he was about to say, was interrupted by Mrs. Landingham. The older woman looked disapprovingly over the top of her glasses. Probably at the Governor's undone tie and jacket, CJ guessed. "Mr. Governor, you need to get back to your hotel, Mrs. Bartlet is waiting."

With difficulty, CJ managed not to laugh when Bartlet imitated the cracking of a whip. "Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains," he quoted on his way out.

Quick to prevent another infamous history lesson, for she really had no idea whom he just cited, she responded with one of her favorite quotes. "Happy is the man who has broken the chains which hurt the mind, and has given up worrying once and for all."

"Happy is the man who has no wives or secretaries." Bartlet retorted.

"Yes Mr. Governor, we all feel very sorry for you," the blonde secretary deadpanned.

CJ allowed herself a laugh and decided to hightail back to her temporal office before Mrs. Landingham redirected her ire. It felt good to be out of the doghouse. Now they just needed to win tonight's debate.

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_Quotes respectively from Jean-Jacques Rousseau (French philosopher/writer) and Ovid (Roman poet)_


	17. Chapter seventeen

_A/N:_ Once more, thank you all for the loyal reviews. I'm quite relieved people are still reading and still having a lot of fun writing this tale :) Please feel free to keep commenting and sharing your opinions. And yes, I miss Mrs. Landingham too, but I haven't yet reached the episodes where Leo dies (thank God). Having just started season 6, I'm still high on CJ's promotion (even though I knew it was coming), tee hee!

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**Tempus plus** seven hours and thirty-six minutes

In the hospital waiting room, time passed excruciatingly slow. Hints of daylight were rising above the Washington skyline and turned the dark of night into shades of dark blue and orange before settling on a shade that heralded the sunny day predicted by weather reports.

Leo tried to read through the memos Margaret packed for him, but wasn't making much progress. His mind kept wandering, going over every conversation he'd had with CJ in the last months.

Why hadn't she said anything about the stalker? After she nearly got shot in the briefing room and Zoey's kidnapping, surely she must've realized she was in real danger?

The main question that bothered him however, was why none of them had noticed anything. She'd been withdrawn, quiet, which he'd contributed to fatigue and the harsh reality of politics: even if the good guys win, the bad ones rarely lose.

Naïve was an adjective one didn't easily associate with CJ, she knew how to play the game and manipulate the various participants. She'd figured out what had happened to Shareef, he'd seen it in her eyes even before she told him as much, and though she demonstrated willingness to aid in the cover-up, in the end her ideals and trust in her President and Leo himself, took a blow. He'd even worried she might try to resign again after the defection attempt by North Korean pianist Jai Yung Ahn. Part of him had been surprised, if not irked, that she could still stick to her ideals so strongly after five years in Washington, but another part of him envied her.

Now he knew there'd been more to the long days and dull eyes. And yet, his eyes fell on the report in his hands, she'd turned the shutdown in their favor, strengthened their negotiating position and raised the President's approval ratings – and that'd just been last week. It'd been a joined effort with Josh, but he was still on probation after the Carrick incident. His timing had been just as poor as CJ's after the MS-disclosure and like her, he'd been benched.

It's not that he wanted to bench him, but it needed to be done. Josh needed to learn to slow down and catch some flies with honey, rather than with a swatter. Until then Angela would make a solid – shit, had anyone thought to inform Angela?

A soft click in the otherwise empty room drew his eyes to the clock, now reaching nine o'clock. Quickly he unmuted the TV still set to CNN and switched it back to C-SPAN just in time to catch the tail end of Sam's opening. Undoubtedly, the young man put his poker face to good use. "-briefing. I am Sam Seaborn, senior counselor to President Bartlet, filling in for Press Secretary CJ Cregg."

With his eyes trained on the monitor, Leo carefully put the reports on a small table It was too late to tell Angela now, like all of them, she watched every morning briefing. He waited for the press to erupt.

They didn't and a clearly relieved Sam quickly set out the agenda for the briefing. "This morning we'll start with brief updates about the post-shutdown progress and the current NATO conference, followed by a statement." So they'd opted to get the political stories out first to ensure the press paid attention. He nodded to the empty room in approval. "I won't be taking questions."

As always the press reacted sharply to that particular announcement, hurling questions at the podium nonetheless. Clearly taken aback, Sam regrouped quickly. One voice rose above the cackle with just the question they'd been dreading; "you have no comment on Haffley's NRA-address or his follow-up interview in the New York Times this morning?"

"We feel it is inappropriate to address Mr. Haffley's comments at this time."

"Nice going, kid." But of course Sam couldn't hear him and the journalists didn't agree.

Rather than wait for them to settle down, the White House's appointed spokesperson moved on. "Today the last of the Federal employees affected by the shutdown return to work. The President thanks everyone for their patience and support. We expect to catch up with the sustained backlog by Friday."

Though they'd been warned, the press couldn't control themselves and like schoolkids confronted with a substitute teacher, tried to provoke answers. He even heard one of them inquire about Sam's failed campaign in the California 47th. The young man's controlled expression started to slip.

Out of caution, he pulled the hospital phone closer, poised to dial the switchboard and have someone pull Sam out of the briefing.

Sticking to his earlier tactic, Sam chose to forge ahead with the next item. "The NATO-assembly is heading into its fourth day of negotiations with Qumari ambassadors Ali Nassir and Prince Umar Usef. Tomorrow Sultan Usef is expected to fly into Brussels to attend the closing negotiations." As expected, the tactic worked. CJ had once revealed a rather controversial bit of legislation while the journalists' were busy shouting questions she'd already declined to answer. As a result, only one picked up on the story. They'd certainly learned their lesson, quieting as soon as Sam was half way through the first sentence. "Henry will answer your questions about the negotiations later today."

"Isn't Henry in Brussels?!"

"Yes." Heart pounding in his chest, Leo knew what was about to come. He hadn't seen Toby's draft and suspected Jed had written a statement of his own. Part of him loathed that they had to announce this tragedy at all. CJ hated being the story. "Then all that's left for this morning," Sam's voice wavered, showing at last a hint of the emotional strain he was under, "is the following announcement:," apparently the more seasoned journalists picked up on the sudden change in the spokesman. The newer ones quickly followed suit as the whole room calmed and Leo had to remind himself to keep breathing. "Around one a.m. late last night White House Press Secretary CJ Cregg was admitted to George Washington hospital, suffering multiple gunshot injuries."

The room – and to Leo it felt like the whole city – released a surprised gasp. He clearly remembered his own reaction when Jed informed the Staff just hours ago. When they'd lifted him from his bed, all he'd been able to learn from the secret service agents was that the President and his family was fine. A comfort, certainly, but then Jed told him what happened…

On screen, Sam ploughed through, clearly just trying to get through the announcement without breaking down. "She is currently undergoing surgery to repair damage done by three bullets." He fiddled with something behind the lectern, a piece of paper, Leo guessed, but then put it in his breast pocket. "This has obviously come as a shock to all of us in the White House and we ask you for your thoughts and prayers and hope with the President and his family for a full recovery of our friend and colleague. We'll keep you updated, thank you."

He might not have seen Toby's writing, but that certainly wasn't it. Even so, CJ would undoubtedly approve the brevity of the statement. Slowly he let himself sink back into the uncomfortable chair, on with the waiting game… Maybe he should call Sam?

Back in the White House, Sam quickly dodged out of the room. As soon as Carol closed the door behind him, he released the breath he'd been holding during most of the briefing. "That was… something."

Carol smiled, "you did well – no secret plan to fight inflation."

He couldn't help but snicker at the impromptu memory. "I wouldn't want to incur CJ's wrath, even when she's unconscious." Instantly the laugh lines on the young woman's face evaporated and guilt tied his tongue.

Feeling like a jerk and unsure of what to say, he watched her rearrange the papers on her desk and pick up a ringing phone. Assistants played a special part in their lives, often providing a necessary anchor and running interference with people no one wanted to see or had time for. And while their tasks were similar, the relationships between each of the Staff members and their assistants were vastly different.

Josh bellowing loudly for Donna was a prime example. CJ only ever bellowed if she was really, really pissed and he couldn't recall her shouting for Carol. No, those two were much more like sisters and partners-in-crime than Josh and Donna, who got by by antagonizing each other. Toby and Ginger didn't appear to have much of a relationship at all, but Sam knew better. Toby only put up with people he admired. Cathy, his own assistant back in the day, was still around and she still, well, yes, she still frightened him.

He held mid-step on his way to his office, surprised to see a lonely figure amidst the hectic bullpen. "Mrs. Bartlet?"

Glancing over her shoulder, she greeted him with a half-smile. "Hi Sam. How did the briefing go?"

"Could've been worse, the administration is still standing." She laughed politely at his sore attempt at humor, the lines on her face more pronounced than he remembered. "Did you talk to…?"

Sadness clouded her eyes. "Not really. I couldn't even introduce myself, he kept talking about Nixon and wanting his vote back." Pausing, she turned back to face CJ's door. "I can understand why her brothers didn't want to tell him."

"Is it that bad?"

Her sigh was audible even over the ringing phones and Josh and Donna's loud argument over something or other. "Alzheimer's is a horrid disease, Sam. A patient forgets things, things you'd never think you _could_ forget. But even as they do, part of them knows something isn't right and that's frightening and frustrating, it often leads to depression and paranoia."

"I can't imagine." And really, who could? Judging by the expression on Mrs. Bartlet's face and her voice she had some experience with Alzheimer's' patients. Maybe CJ confided in her? She certainly hadn't told him, all he knew was that her father was sick and he'd only learned that after accidentally walking in on a private phone call.

"You didn't use my statement."

Caught by surprise, he spun around. "Mr. President!"

"Mr. Seaborn."

Quickly Sam reached for the folded piece of paper and handed it back. "I think you should read it, sir. When she's awake." He could feel the First Lady's eyes on him. The President's suddenly gentle and almost pitying expression knocked the breath out of him.

The President slowly took the note from him. "Yeah." The First couple left together, without even looking at one another, but the President's expression stuck in his head. Part of him didn't think CJ would wake up.

Fighting the chill that suddenly engulfed him, Sam sought out the security of his office only to be called by Carol mere moments later. "Chris, Steve and Gregg want to see you." With a nod he admitted them entrance and watched the three journalists demurely step inside.

"Off the record."

They accepted his restriction without comment. "How bad?" Chris' voice was soft, and it reminded him that though CJ had days when she wanted nothing more than to set fire to the briefing room, these people were her colleagues almost as much as he, Josh and Toby were.

Their eyes now weren't looking for hidden agendas, government cover-ups or fatal gaffes. They were genuinely concerned and he wished he had more reassurances to offer them. "Not good. She'll be in surgery most of today."

"And then?"

"We wait."

"Do you know who shot her, and why?"

"Sorry," he really was, "but I can't say, even off the record."

They nodded in unison, each of them obviously reluctant to speak next. Gregg finally dared to venture into business, smoothing his hand over his nearly bald scalp – such a contrast with Chris wild curls. "We can hold off for a while, but there are deadlines. We'll need something more by the end of day."

"You'll have it." The Secret Service investigation was quickly spewing out facts, though he'd only glanced at the latest memo, it killed him that when all was said and done, CJ's injuries wouldn't be the focus of the stories. No, the utter failure to secure the White House would dominate the headlines. Every hour and day they could delay opening that particular can of worms was more than welcome.

"We'll need something on Hafferty's address sooner than that."

"Hafferty can stick his--" catching himself, he released a long breath. "I don't think it's appropriate to talk about guns while CJ's fighting for her life."

"We care about CJ, Sam," Chris reminded him gently, "and we'll be thinking about her and we'll try to give you guys a break, but the papers are still going to be printed."

He couldn't take their sympathy, even though they meant well. "Deadlines, the fourth certainty in life."

Just then, Carol appeared. "Sam? I have Danny Concannon holding for you." Great. That was a conversation he was dying to have.

"Put him through."

Chris squeezed his forearm on her way out. "You did well on the briefing, Sam, she'd be proud."

The compliment didn't make him feel any better as he picked up the phone and let Danny's breathless questions wash over him.


	18. Chapter eighteen: autumn 1998

_A/N:_ I know I keep saying it, but thank you all for the reviews! I've never gotten this many reviews (or hits for that matter) on a story and I gotta say I'm diggin' it, keep 'm coming! :)

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**Tempus minus** five years one month, nineteen days, ten hours and eleven minutes

Suddenly aware CJ was no longer following him Josh glanced around the open cubicles in the main hall. Though the headquarters were crawling with people, CJ usually wasn't hard to find, being a few inches taller than pretty much anyone else. Retracing his steps – he really needed her advice on a thing – his ears picked up her voice.

"Toby, the debate was four days ago."

"That, _that_ was what I meant! That's how he should've done the first two!" Unwilling to walk into that particular cesspool, Josh leaned against the wall of Toby's office and opted to wait rather than interrupt. Toby was brilliant, but the guy could never let anything go. For four days he'd been complaining about the debates to Josh, to Sam, to CJ on the phone. And he'd been complaining about CJ stopping by her family home for four days on their way back to Washington. Sure, the timing wasn't perfect, but CJ would never have taken off if it wasn't important.

"It was the tie." He grimaced at CJ's weary tone, and the comment. That'd been his favorite tie and he was never going to get it back. The Governor hadn't stopped spouting about his new 'lucky' tie. It'd been Josh' lucky tie, but who gave a crap about that? Okay, so it hadn't been his lucky tie. In fact, he only wore it because he'd be on TV and his mother would be watching, but still…

"It's too little too late."

"No, it's not." Though she didn't shout, the raised volume took him by surprise. Since he'd picked her up from the airport earlier that morning, CJ had barely said two words, further supporting his theory that her visit home hadn't been purely a social call. "None of the debates disappointed Toby, and the last impressed. The polls have picked up, that's the ballgame."

When no reply was forthcoming – other than some gruff, unintelligible mumbling – Josh dared to venture inside. "CJ, I need to talk to you about—"

"Coming. Go write some speeches Toby." They easily fell back into step next to each other. "Has he been like that since the debate?"

"Pretty much."

"Joy."

He grinned, the place hadn't been the same without her, but there were some issues that needed addressing. "Danny's pretty pissed, he wants to see you."

"Not today."

"He says you set him up."

She didn't reply until she shut her office door behind them and dropped into the leather desk chair. "Boohoo."

Surprised by her careless attitude, Josh studied his friend's face. She didn't look that different from the first time he met her. Her curls were frazzled, frizzier than usual thanks to the drizzle of rain outside. She wasn't pretty – not according to today's standards of flawless faces and neat rows of white teeth – but she was beautiful, confident and she could drink him under the table any day of the week.

Today she looked like she'd rather hide under the covers and it unsettled him. They all made long days now that the campaign was nearing its end, which meant that it was rare for any of the staff to get more than three or four hours of sleep a night. CJ, up until now, appeared better equipped to deal with the lack of sleep than the rest of them. He'd seen her pull three consecutive all-nighters and still be able to speak coherently.

She looked more worn-out now, after four days with her father and step-mom than during the debate prep when the Governor had it in for her and no one got any rest. Dr. Bartlet would have a fit. "How's your dad?"

Instantly he recognized the flash in her eyes. "He's fine."

Right. "You left pretty suddenly."

"There was a… thing." The trashcan apparently fascinated CJ for a moment or two, but when she looked back at him, her expression was soft and almost sad. "I don't really want to talk about it Josh."

He considered giving in to her request, but then Josh Lyman was good at pushing people when they didn't really want to be pushed. "My dad had a thing too."

She just watched him, her eyes a mixture of fear, sorrow and stubbornness. "I know, I'm just not ready to accept it."

"You're not going to be. You'll keep thinking that he'll get better, even when everyone else says he won't." The tears welling in her eyes broke his heart. "I still miss him."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Her smile was small, barely there, but he knew what she was saying; that she appreciated his effort and knew she could always talk to him. It was that feeling of understanding he enjoyed most about their relationship. "What's his diagnosis?" It was hard not to feel a little disappointed and shut out when she gave a small shake of her head. He understood though, when he'd learned of his father's diagnosis he'd not been able to talk about it for the first few weeks either. "What are you going to do about Danny?"

"Nothing. He's a journalist, I used him to get a point across to the public just like he used me by misquoting my private comments about the Governor's chances."

"You should be careful," he warned, drawing from experience, "you need to be friendly with the press."

CJ raised her eyebrows, and opened her mouth to answer when her assistant, Carol popped in and handed them both a copy of the latest poll results. "I don't need them to like me, Josh, I need them to respect me," she continued, absently flipping through the results.

Her words barely reached him. These results… "we're up, again."

"Yeah."

"Because of the press release?" How did this happen? Not that he was complaining, not at all. In fact, greater things had rarely happened. They were winning!

CJ grinned indulgently and didn't look at all surprised when Toby barged in, then skitted to a halt in surprise. "You're here?"

"It's my office."

Toby tapped impatiently against the folder in his hand. "We can win."

"Yes."

Josh watched his friend take a step towards CJ's desk, then to the side, back to the desk and eventually shuffle in the direction of the door. "I need to write speeches," he mumbled and disappeared.

CJ's eyes were full of question marks, her mouth pulled into a twisted grimace. "Wow."

"Yeah, he's gone off the deep end."

She shook her head in amusement; her blue eyes alight with mirth. "What's the thing you needed to talk to me about?"

Uhh… "Oh, nothing too important, I think we're running into a little roadblock with Hoynes."

This could be the reality of their jobs for the next eight year, he thought glumly as he watched the amusement evaporate from her face. "What now?"

"There are rumors going around that he'll sabotage the elections to have a change at running in four years."

Her lips thinned into an unforgiving line. "They're just rumors. Say they're propagated by someone who lost the bid for VP, or better yet, the Republican Party. They feel threatened by our poll results – yeah, use that."

"You're not going to do it in the briefing?"

"No, that'll just give weight to the rumors."

He mulled over her words, knowing she was right. Unfortunately, that wasn't all. "Listen to this: 'Governor Bartlet and I are working closely together on issues originally from my campaign designed to help the American people, such as—"

"Stop," her voice weary and the wave of her hand only half-hearted. CJ slowly rose from her chair. Josh watched her body unfold and stepped aside when she headed for the door. "I'll go talk to him."

"Thanks. I'll just, uhm, go stand over here." But she was already out of earshot, leaving him empty handed. Everyone was running around in a frenzy to fulfill their many tasks and duties while he had absolutely nothing to do. Something about that struck him as odd and he'd never been very good at waiting games. Maybe there was a little project for him somewhere, he hoped so. Donna would know. "Donna!"


	19. Chapter nineteen

A/N: I meant to get this chapter out a little sooner (it's 3 a.m. now) but got stuck on the last few paragraphs. I think they're okay now (I certainly hope so!). Unfortunately, at least one person is going to be disappointed by this chapter, I'm sorry... Now, on with the reading (and reviewing)! :)

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**Tempus plus** eight hours and three minutes

"You know Toby, I get that you're pissed."

Reluctantly Toby looked up from his work. "You didn't knock."

Will shrugged, "would you have let me in?"

"No."

"Okay then. You should've informed the Vice-President before the briefing."

Already Will was getting on his nerves. Sure, the young man didn't have to do much to accomplish that, just showing up usually did the trick, but it irked him that he wasn't even inquiring about CJ. "Go bug Sam."

"You should have told us!"

"Well, gee, you're right." He threw Will his infamous deathstare, only ever survived by CJ because she knew how to disarm him. "My first thought should've been Bingo Bob!"

The deer-in-the-headlights look Will wore so well didn't bring the satisfaction it had in the past. Weakly, the younger man stuck to his point for which Toby – begrudgingly – awarded credit. "We're on the same team, Toby, you should have included us."

"So that you could do what? Send in Bingo Bob on his magical unicorn of mediocrity to heal her?"

Having recovered somewhat, Will didn't rise to the bait. "So that the VP didn't almost respond to Haffley's address in a manner that would've been wildly inappropriate."

"What's he doing responding at all!?" When were people finally going to get it through their thick skulls that Josiah Bartlet was the only President of the United States! For four years, they'd been stuck with Hoynes. Then they'd had to deal with Walken. Then Haffley and now they had to contend with an over-eager, under-qualified VP trying to lock down the next election three years early! This was their second term. Things should be easier now, without the pressure of re-election they could afford to make a few enemies to get things done!

"Bartlet gained a lot of points after his little Capitol Hill stunt, but my guy's polls are falling because you've kept him invisible during the Shutdown!"

Toby nearly knocked over his chair as he stood, his whole body trembling with rage. "CJ is fighting for her life and you have the audacity to come in here complaining about poll results!" They'd welcomed this guy in their midst, let him work on the inauguration and pissed a lot of people off by giving him Sam's job and he threw it all back in their faces by going to work for the default choice. Therein lay Will's misconception. He thought they had it in for him because he'd chosen to work for someone else, whereas their gripe was for him not choosing someone worthy of continuing Bartlet's work. All those cracks they'd made while writing the speech introducing Bob Russell as Vice-President still held true. No amount of brilliant staffers would ever – and should ever - change that. "Get out."

"I'm just trying to—"

"OUT!"

Just as Will moved to obey, Sam appeared and blocked the other man's exit. "Mrs. Bartlet wants to see us in the Rose Garden," he informed them, looking at Toby before glancing in Bailey's direction, "you too, Will."

With a huff to log his protest, Toby grabbed his jacket and fell into step besides Sam. Abigail Bartlet had ways of getting what she wanted, and they rarely failed her. "You didn't read the statement."

Sam looked at him sideways. "I improvised."

"Okay." Truth was, he didn't care. Even if he'd had weeks or years to write that particular statement, he wouldn't be satisfied with it. It'd been the hardest thing he'd ever had to write. He just needed to take his mind off Bob, still seething with anger. "You talked to Danny?"

"Yeah, he's in some remote part of China, near the Mongolian border. The nearest international airport is two weeks away."

"That's still possible?" He liked Danny, they all did, though probably not as much as CJ. She hadn't crossed any lines, he was certain of that, but her complicated relationship with Danny unsettled him nonetheless. CJ, for all her intelligence and resilience, had a self-destructive streak and it usually involved men.

"Evide—"

"Hey, watch this!" Josh' voice pulled them off the path they were on and suddenly he found himself staring at CJ's press picture on the news.

On the other half of the screen, the CNN White House reporter relayed the news from what looked like the front lawn. "The Bartlet administration announced this morning that Press Secretary CJ Cregg, who turned forty-four last week--"

Instantly he turned to face Josh, "Did you…?"

"No, you?"

"Nuh, huh."

"Crap."

But the news didn't care that in the hectic days of the shutdown they'd completely forgotten CJ's birthday and continued unperturbed, "--shot and is undergoing critical surgery. We know she suffered at least three gunshot wounds, but are waiting to hear more from the White House. Sam Seaborn made the announcement." On cue, Sam's picture replaced CJ. "Mr. Seaborn left his position as deputy Communications Director shortly after the 2002 elections to run for Congress in his home district – the California 47th, but lost the race to Republican Chuck Webb. While he was promoted to Senior Counselor to President Bartlet, he didn't return to the White House until a week ago to help out during the Shutdown."

"What does this have to do w…" but Carol quickly hushed him.

Again the screen changed, this time switching Sam's picture for a view of the studio. Daytime anchor Jack Allen did his best to convey shock, his eyebrows drawn together as he ruffled through empty sheets of paper and touched his earpiece. "Annie, is it unusual we have not yet heard a statement from the President?"

The reporter shook her head. "No, Jack. Details are sketchy, but we can assume the President has been in back-to-back meetings in the Situation Room and with the Secret Service."

"Are there any indications this is a terrorist attack?"

"No, all signs indicate this was a personal attack on Miss Cregg."

"Is there anything else you can tell us?"

"Yes, we have sources at the hospital saying the First Lady arrived shortly after CJ's admission and the President and his Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry have also been spotted. It is White House policy not to comment on Secret Service procedures and investigations, but we're expecting more details later today." Sam groaned. "Back to you, Jack."

The studio view now took up the whole screen, but only for a moment or two. The constant switching and use of the split screen function started to give Toby a headache. A list appeared on the left and he recognized it instantly. "Oh no."

Sure enough, the anchor started, "Bartlet's first term as President was marred by the shooting at the Newseum in Rosslyn in May 1999, which critically injured deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman, the President himself and killed bystander Stephanie Abbott. A year later, Presidential secretary Mrs. Delores Landingham died after being hit by a drunk driver. The Bartlet Administration continued to be plagued by death. In 2001 a Secret Service agent assigned to protect CJ Cregg from a stalker, died while interrupting an armed robbery in New York. Another Secret Service agent died in the line of duty earlier this year, trying to prevent the kidnapping of the Bartlets' youngest daughter, Zoey. Zoey was kept hostage for fifty hours, during which the President temporarily handed over power to then-Speaker of the House Glenallen Walken."

"Great, we just got our numbers up and now they're showcasing all our weaknesses!" Anger boiled in his chest, would they ever get a break from crap like this?! "Why not issue and open invitation to every sick fuck in the country to come take a shot at us!" He fought against Sam and Josh as they pulled him back from the TV. He wanted to punch Jack's smug little face as he continued unfazed by Toby's outburst.

"In April, White House staff narrowly escaped injury after a shooter opened fire on the Pressroom from the street. Bulletproof glass successfully thwarted his attempt."

The screen momentarily blackened, then faded into a compilation of CJ's most memorable briefings while a voice-over narrated her life and career. To everyone's surprise, the comments were mostly positive as fragments of the post-Rosslyn briefings, the announcements during Zoey's kidnapping and the controversial briefings on Qumar and Saudi Arabia passed by. "They're being… nice," Josh concluded, clearly mystified while the voice-over spoke of CJ's sense of humor and political insight.

"Yeah, let's stay away from the Fox channel," Will offered gamely. Sure enough, the Fox channel had only been positive about President Bartlet on two occasions: after Rosslyn, because they had to be, and after Walken took over as acting President, for obvious reasons. Out of principle, Toby growled.

"Guys?" Donna rounded the corner. "The First Lady is waiting."

Part of him – all of him, really – wanted to stay and watch, but he followed the others, keeping a close eye on Sam and Will who were talking in hushed tones. Josh bumped against his side. "Do you think there's news?"

"No, it's too soon." And why would they tell them in the Rose Garden? No, something else was up. He briefly he let Sam and Will be and glanced at Josh. His friend's pensive stare startled him. "You okay there?"

"Yeah… just thinking."

"Oh." It wasn't hard to figure out what Josh was thinking about. They'd all been in the hospital with him and they'd all spoken to his therapist a year later. That the shooting back in April hadn't fazed Josh was a testament to his resilience, but at the same time it illustrated how deep the scars left by Rosslyn in all of them were. He remembered his own panic clearly as his instinct drove him to the ground, he'd dreamed of Panmunjom that night. CJ stayed on her feet, didn't seem to realize what was happening and he didn't know whether that was because of shock, or because she'd struck the Rosslyn experience from her mind. It frightened him, because he'd realized she made an easy target; tall, recognizable and with reactions definitely not catlike.

"Was it like this after…?"

"The waiting was," he admitted, "but with the President shot too most of stayed in the hospital. Donna never left."

At the mentioning of her name, Josh peered over to his assistant, leading their small procession. "Yeah. I'm glad she didn't have to see..."

Toby just nodded, not sure what else to say. Charlie and Debbie tagged on when they passed their office and one by one stepped out of the building. They quickly spotted the First Lady among the rosebushes, her husband at her side. Since Zoey's kidnapping the First Marriage was clearly strained and even now that they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, there was an obvious distance between the couple. It reminded him painfully of how he and Andi estranged from each other during the last months of their marriage. Even now that Huck and Molly were born, he couldn't figure out how to close that distance.

"Mr. President, ma'am."

"Hey guys, gather around." The others moved quickly, leaving Josh and Toby lagging behind.

A handful of agents complimented the group, which now included the senior staff and their assistants. Just two people were missing; Leo and CJ. Though not for long, from the corner of his eye he caught Leo rushing up to meet them. "What's going on?"

Toby shrugged his shoulders in unison with Josh. "The First Lady told us to follow."

"We don't question Mrs. B." Josh added helpfully.

He caught Leo and the President exchanging a glance over the group and Abigail threw in a timid wave. There'd been some kind of fall-out between the First Lady and Leo, but apparently it'd been resolved. A good thing too, the West Wing had seen more than enough tension lately.

"I know you're all wondering if there's any news," at her words, his heart jumped to his throat. There couldn't be any news, right? It was just too soon. But the usually calm and composed Dr. Bartlet tapped her fingers nervously against a small, wooden box in her hands. "All I can tell you is that she's hanging in there. The Doctors are confident the wounds to her neck and chest will heal just fine. Now, the surgery will still take hours more, but things are looking up."

The relief felt by his colleagues was almost palpable, but he couldn't help but remain skeptical. Mrs. Bartlet could hide the truth as well as any seasoned politician. He'd never subscribed to the 'glass is half full' philosophy and wouldn't relax until he could talk to CJ. "What's in the box?" The question wasn't meant for anyone other than himself, but Josh still stood close enough to hear him.

"Dunno."

"Helpful. "

A non-committal shrug was the only reply, just as well. The President shuffled uneasily when Abigail opened the small box she'd been holding. From this distance he couldn't make out what it contained, or if it contained anything at all, but the First Lady was quick to fill them in. "It's probably a White House first," she admitted, suddenly looking a little unsure of herself, "but I think Gail here, deserves a send-off."

"The Secret Service is okay with that?"

She glared in Leo's general direction. "It's a fish Leo, it's not exactly evidence that's going to keep well."

"Why'd he shoot her at all?"

Could they just get on with it? They should be at the hospital, not attending a goldfish funeral! Even as the President motioned for agent Butterfield to step forward, he continued to fume in silence. CJ always laughed in his face when he did that.

"He didn't shoot the goldfish, we reconstructed the bullet trajectories."

"On CSI that takes days!" Margaret exclaimed, setting off another one of those inane babble rounds he resented so much.

Sure enough, Donna jumped on the bandwagon. "What's CSI?"

Completely caught up in her own little world, Margaret turned to her friend. "It's a television show about forensic detectives solving crimes. It's got William Peterson and this hunky dark guy."

"I haven't seen anything other than the news and political talkshows," Josh complained after exchanging a look with Charlie, succeeding in riling up Leo without breaking a sweat. At least this part was somewhat amusing, Toby consoled himself.

"I'll make sure Margaret won't even have time to see those for the next ten years." Suitably chastised, the tall woman changed her body language, though not before throwing her boss a recalcitrant glance. "Ron?"

With a nod, Ron acknowledged Leo's unspoken request. "Something or someone distracted the shooter and his first shot missed Miss Cregg but hit the fishbowl. Before he fired again she turned, causing the bullet aimed at her heart to hit the right side of her chest. The impact pushed her back, exposing her neck to the third bullet. Just as he pulled the trigger again, agent Sinclair fired at him. The downwards motion of the gun as the gunman fell, bend the last bullet's trajectory downwards to her thigh."

They'd been able to surmise all that just by where the bullets ended up? There had to be more to this.

Margaret just stared at Ron. "Wow." Even the First Lady appeared a little taken aback. It frustrated him that he couldn't make out Leo's expression. Nothing had made sense since two agents lifted him out of his bed ten hours ago.

Nothing, but the small, folded piece of paper one of the Presidential secretaries handed to Charlie, who inconspicuously passed it onto POTUS. This was the reality of working in the White House. Handwritten messages that required the highest clearance and could bring a whole nation to a grinding halt. What this one said remained a mystery for now, not even Josh was allowed a peak.

Mrs. Bartlet's expression spoke of weary acceptance as she watched her husband and Leo take off, Ron and most of the agents in pursuit. Unceremoniously she put the small box down in the shallow hole in the ground and watched with the rest of them as Charlie shoveled a few layers of dirt on it.

He hardly noticed the First Lady moving away from the group, too busy pondering the possible contents of the note. As far as he knew, everyone was too busy recovering from the Shutdown to cause trouble. The Republicans would be wise to lay low for a while. Josh' walk up to Capitol Hill hadn't done them any favors. It was even quiet in the Middle East.

To his annoyance, his body jerked when Mrs. Bartlet suddenly appeared next to him. "Toby, Josh, I'm heading back to the hospital, if you want to come…" her voice trailed off and suddenly all his griping about them not being with CJ fled from his mind. Panic wrapped tightly around his chest. The feeling of utter helplessness and fear as they waited for Josh to recover came back so real he could almost touch it. It was irony, or perhaps a testimony to Sam's skills that all sound disappeared and only the voice of President Bartlet remained, haunting him with a reality he will never be ready to face. The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels.

Josh calling his name brought back the sounds of reality, but didn't shake the terror and so he said the only thing he could. "I have to write." He didn't look at them when he moved away, didn't even dare to breathe until he was back inside his office, safely removed from the fear – though not from the gnawing guilt.

The photo on his desk, the one of Andi holding the twins just days after their birth, drew his attention and when he sat down, it was just to ponder the cruelty of this world he'd brought his children into and not for the first time felt jealous his brother had managed to escape into space. His fingers found his grandfather's old pen and the virginal white paper gave a voice to his muddled thoughts. He wasn't a Doctor and his words wouldn't heal anyone, but they were the one thing he had to offer.


	20. Chapter twenty: Election Day 1998

_A/N:_ So I missed a week, for which I'm terribly sorry. Between the last week of uni, a new job and a couple of graduationparties that dunked my muse into a three-day hangover, I didn't finsh the chapter on time. I hope you'll enoy the result, this chapter has proven to be the most difficult to write yet and as always, thank you so much for the reviews, they keep me going :)

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**Tempus minus** five years, twenty-three days and seven hours

"Care to explain again, Claudia Jean, why I can't have a beer?"

Patiently, CJ watched her boss. She knew his nerves were doing the talking and would for a while yet, so she didn't take his accusatory tone personal. "Because you wouldn't make a very good impression being drunk during your victory speech."

"One beer hardly makes a drunk."

She let the egregious statement slide. "It doesn't have to. One FOX-reporter will smell the alcohol on your breath and you'll be facing your first scandal before even setting foot in the White House."

Bartlet's eyes narrowed. "I might not actually win this thing, you are aware of that, right?"

"In which case it wouldn't do to appear to drink away your sorrows."

Grudgingly he nodded. "Do you know how many liters of beer the average American consumes monthly, Claudia Jean?" She shook her head, mentally preparing for a Bartlet-lecture. How the man came by and remembered all those –useless- statistics was beyond her. "Six point eight. Almost seven liters a month CJ, talk about the pot calling the kettle drunk!"

"Yes sir."

He came to a halt in front of her, pondering something. "I really can't have one beer?"

"No sir."

"You realize of course," he started with less defiance, "that you and I are going to be the only sober ones in this building by the end of this hellish night."

CJ allowed a laugh, "and Leo, sir."

"Ah yes," he dropped in his chair, "and Leo. Drop the sirs, would you?"

"I'm just practicing, sir."

He observed her thoughtfully for a moment, she wondered what he saw. "You really think we're going to win this?"

"Yes I do." She really did, if only to counter the cynicism Tobus drowned himself – and everyone within earshot – in. "We've worked too long and hard not to."

"Ain't that the truth."

Caught by surprise, they turned to the door. CJ couldn't help but feel a little relieved. This was shaping up to be the longest night of her life and all help to keep the next Commander in Chief from driving them both insane was more than welcome. "Leo."

"We took New Hampshire."

"We'd better," Jed mumbled. "Did the guys break out the beer?"

McGarry shook his head. "Not yet."

"Good! Tell them that anyone who touches beer is out of a job tomorrow."

With a careless shrug, Leo agreed. "Okay."

"How long is it going to take?"

CJ exchanged a look with the new arrival. "The voting, sir?"

"No, no, no, how long before I can have a drink, because let me tell you," he approached her with a pointed finger, his blue eyes steady on hers, "whether we win or lose, I think I deserve one."

"Well sir, you'll be expected to celebrate your victory in private with family and friends. There will be alcohol." She smiled when his eyes lit up and suspected the prospect of a victory party with people he cared about was a much more compelling prospect than that of booze.

"Aren't you a little obsessed with alcohol?"

Bartlet stared at his mentor for a second, then turned back to CJ. "Where's my wife?"

"She's in a discussion with Donna over her outfit for tonight."

"Good heavens. What does it matter? As long as she shows a little leg and doesn't flash the nation, I'm happy." CJ elected not to inform him of the hours spend discussing the suit Jed was currently wearing. Or the fact he'd have to change before giving his acceptance speech. "They'd better not be drinking."

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Leo roll his eyes. This was going to be a long night indeed.

And it quickly proved to be one. Between back-to-back interviews, Sam's nervous babbling and the constant anxiety over incoming exit polls, every hour had an unprecedented exhaustive force. The notebook in her hand contained page after page of scribbled numbers that were already a little too close to unreadable. Not that it mattered, she'd given her staff express instruction to take down every number that passed the major news outlets tonight – and that data didn't even include the results of their internal polls, sampling thousands of voters.

It was a bit unfair, she thought when one sixth of the exit polls were in, that she was running around like a mad-woman, managing the press, staffing the Governor and calming everyone's nerves, while Josh and Sam sat quietly in front of one of the TV's. Toby kept himself busy making sure all beer bottles remained sealed, which was at least somewhat useful considering the Governor's current obsession with alcohol.

She caught sight of something blonde and halted mid-step, tripping when Carol bumped into her back. "Donna!" Not really having the time to spare, CJ resigned herself to waiting until Josh' assistant finished whatever call she was on. Behind her, Carol fidgeted nervously.

"CJ, what about the Triton-Day request?"

"Give 'm Hoynes."

"They won't like that."

CJ craned her neck a little to make sure Carol actually took down her answer. The brunette had been doing a great job as her go-to-gal, but had the tendency to be a little protective and play things safe. "I don't care, they're not getting the Governor."

"But Chat-talk is one of the best watched daily—"

"Chat-talk is a ridiculous name! Isobel might as well have named it Talk-talk and it may be the most watched, the show is nothing but a stage for Hollywood banality, not somewhere you'd want the next President of the United States to make his final appearance before the voting stations close! Hoynes will love it."

"He's only going to do The Late Show?"

"If the exit polls are favorable."

Carol screwed up her nose, "but why not one or two talk shows while the people can still go and vote for him?"

Impatiently CJ tapped her foot on the floor, mentally trying to drill holes in Donna's skull. "We don't want to risk overexposure. All major news outlets will be re-airing recent television appearances and interviews, if we put him on too many additional shows the issues will run together and people might get tired of him." God knew she did from time to time. Not to mention it gave them more time to make mistakes and lose votes. The Governor's appearances lately were hit or miss and they couldn't afford another miss. "It wouldn't matter that much anyway, only a negligible percentage of voters make up their minds during the last half of Election Day. The main battle is to get people to go out and vote."

"I'll take it to Stephan."

"No, take it straight to Hoynes." Stephan did his job as press liaison well and would undoubtedly advice Hoynes against taking the slot. Hoynes, on the other hand, was unlikely to resist the Hollywood pull. Carol nodded and took off just as Donna finally put down the phone and came over. "Please tell me she picked a dress?"

"We narrowed it down to two, but she wants your input."

"Great." Really, how hard could it be to pick a dress? It just needed to look good on TV. So she knew it wasn't quite that simple, but the truth was she had much more pressing and complicated problems to solve.

Donna just shrugged and smiled. "Sorry."

"Doesn't sound like you mean it," CJ complained half-heartedly.

"I don't. Do you know where Josh is by any chance?"

The hairs at the back of her neck sprung to attention. "Why? Who was that on the phone?"

The blonde's smile faded just a little. "Some old friend of his to wish him luck. So did you see him?"

"Toby's office." Unconvinced by the excuse, she couldn't shake the trepidation that rolled down her spine. "Donna?" Just a few steps away, Donna turned. "If it's something I need to know… the sooner we fix it, the better. I'll need time to set up interviews and call in--"

"CJ, it's nothing."

She didn't want to not believe Donna and knew the blonde was a terrible liar, but Donna was also fiercely loyal to her boss. But Josh really was one of the strategic heavyweights of the Democratic party, even if that was a little easy to forget after you'd seen him dancing to Abba with a pink cocktail in his hand. God they'd had some good times during this campaign.

With a nod to two agents posted outside, she quickly slipped into tonight's designated dressing room and shut the door before turning around. It took a moment or two to process the situation she now found herself in. On the other side of the room stood Mrs. Bartlet, facing away from her, and all the tension that had held her in its grip this day, melted into a grin. "I'm sold, but what do the screen-tests say?"

Abigail jumped and spun around. "God CJ! You couldn't knock?!"

"Well, I didn't expect to find you half-naked, why didn't you lock the door?"

Not in a hurry at all, Abbey crossed the room to where two dresses hung on display. "I assumed people would _knock_." She took down the navy, floor-length gown with white accents and began to put it on, covering up the black lingerie set and stockings CJ'd found her in. They'd seen each other in various states of undress during the campaign, but CJ still couldn't quite suppress the pang of jealousy. Abbey might have a few years on her, she still had a gorgeous figure and there'd been a time in her life when she'd have killed for breasts like hers.

After smoothing down the dress, the Doctor spun around, causing the skirt to flare up just a touch. It fitted her perfectly, CJ had to admit, showing a decent amount of cleavage and narrowly following the curves of her waist and rear. The white accents broke up the solid dark color and created the illusion of height. "It's beautiful," she complimented sincerely, but knew it would come across a little too severe on television and while they'd been working on Mrs. Bartlet's image as a wife and mother – and not just a world-class surgeon – it might be a tad too matronly with the long skirt and wide shoulders.

Without reacting much to the compliment, Abbey turned and started to peel off the fabric. "Donna tells me you'll be wearing another suit."

"They're comfortable."

"You have such a lovely figure Claudia Jean, you should show it off."

CJ shrugged and approached to help with the next dress, which fit even more snugly than the first. Abbey had trouble getting it on on her own. "I need pockets and I'm just a staffer, the focus will be on you and your family."

"Don't remind me." A last adjustment to her bra and the picture was complete.

"That's the one," CJ announced without hesitation. Everything about this dress, tight as it was, just fitted not only Abigail Bartlet, but the new First Lady. The golden color just a touch bold, but muted enough not to be too glamorous and contrasted beautifully with Abbey's highlighted locks and ruby red lips. Half-length sleeves added a touch of modesty that nicely offset the knee-length, fitted skirt and seductive amount of cleavage. The whole dress fit her like a glove and she'd look lovely next to the Governor in his deep blue suit.

"I thought so too," the older woman agreed proudly, checking out her appearance in the full-length mirror.

"I'd just change the stockings to skin-colored ones," CJ suggested. "When are the girls coming over?"

"They're just finishing up at the farm now, they'll bring their outfits and change later tonight."

"We've got a long night ahead of us." The east coast results were almost in, but it'd be another four or five hours before the last stations would close.

Abbey nodded and started to undress again. "As long as we have something to show for it; a nice house on Pennsylvania Avenue, for instance. How are the boys holding up?"

It was hard not to laugh at that question, but she managed. "Toby's hoarding the beer and your husband could probably do with a visit – so pretty much as expected." The words had barely left her mouth, or an insistent buzzing in her pocket demanded attention. Caller-ID took her by surprise, "Danny?"

"Hey CJ, I have a question or two, on the record."

Hesitantly she confirmed, aware that Mrs. Bartlet was watching her. Her heart picked up speed, this couldn't be good.

"What is the Bartlet for America campaign's response to the add just aired by ACLA in response to comments by an anonymous staffer that Bartlet will bring more freedom to this country than it has ever seen, including handling abortion rights once and for all?"

CJ took a breath, and another one, then shut down her cell. "Excuse me Mrs. B." She took three more steps after leaving the room, took one last breath and opened her mouth, "_JOSHUA!_"


	21. Chapter twenty one

_A/N:_ A little later than I would've liked, but here's the new chapter. As always, thanks a bunch for your reviews! I noticed that a couple of you have stories up of their own, I wish I had time to read them and return the feedback - I will at some point for sure :) Happy reading!

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**Tempus plus **nine hours and fifty-four minutes

There had been many days that went down as the worst day of her life. The reality of being a Doctor wasn't saving lives. You thought it was; you had to. The idea that you'd remember saving lives and helping people was what got you through medical school, residency and sleepless nights. Now, sitting in a bulletproof limousine accompanied by three Secret Service agents and one lucky survivor, she didn't remember the smiling faces of healed patients.

Instead, she recalled the people she'd lost, the many times her soul had been crushed after she'd worked days or weeks to save someone only to lose them in the end. Some died because of mistakes she made and as heart wrenching as that was, doing everything right and still lose was even worse. She'd been able to do something for Claudia, but would it be enough?

Next to her, Josh turned paler the closer they got to the hospital. She didn't ask if he was alright, knowing that he wasn't. This whole ordeal undoubtedly reminded him of his own hospital stay and recovery and she made a mental note to contact his therapist, Doctor Keyworth. "I can't see her, can I?" He asked timidly when they turned into 23rd street. Anger momentarily paralyzed her at the sight of a few dozen reporters snapping shots of their limo. Couldn't they leave them alone for once? This wouldn't help CJ and only interfere with the rest of the work done in the GW. "No, she's still in surgery."

"But they're almost done, right?"

God, she hated these talks. They never got any easier and yet she kept hoping they would. "I don't know Josh, it could last well into the night." He nodded curtly and reverted to silence as they pulled up to the back entrance.

The agents quickly ushered them away from prying eyes and up to the emptied floor. Surprisingly, there was no one else there. Shouldn't her family have arrived by now? "When do her brothers get here?"

"Her oldest brother should be here soon," Josh said hesitantly, "he lives pretty close by."

"And her other brother?" They made themselves comfortable – for as far as possible in the basic chairs.

"He's stationed near the Qumar border in Saudi Arabia."

Caught by surprise she turned to face him. "I had no idea."

Josh snorted darkly, "neither did I, she doesn't talk much about her family."

"That she doesn't," Abbey agreed. Claudia hadn't even spoken of her father's condition until just a few weeks ago and she suspected Toby was the only one who'd known all along.

The silence that settled back over them didn't bother her, there wasn't really much to say and she hated small-talk, reserved her limited amount of patience for it for the fake, political slime-fests that had become a large – and useless – part of her life. When her companion pulled a stack of White House memos from his bag, she kept her comments to herself. She'd often escaped into medical journals and lexicons back when her knowledge of new technologies, treatments and drugs could save lives. Now that knowledge served no purpose other than to maintain a small semblance of a career she'd given up years ago.

When the door opened an undetermined amount of time later, her heart jumped into her throat and she barely had time to stand up before her youngest daughter threw herself into her arms. There were few sights more precious to a mother than the sight of her children in one piece. Since Zoey's kidnapping six months ago, being able to close her arms around her little girl was a gift she'd never again take for granted. "I wanted to come sooner," Zoey apologized quickly and needlessly.

"It's okay, I'm glad you're here now." Reluctantly she let go as Zoey pulled away to greet Josh.

His "hey kiddo" brought a smile to her lips. Her husband was incredibly lucky to have found a staff that had become such a part of their family. Josh and Zoey could fight like brother and sister during chili nights and while Claudia Jean had always provided a shoulder and listening ear for the Bartlet girls, Zoey had grown close to the tall woman in the aftermath of her ordeal.

"How's school?"

"Oh, it's fine, but they lumped all the boring classes together."

Josh smirked, "don't they always?"

"Is that why we haven't seen you for a while?" Her attempt not to sound too slighted failed. Of course it'd be unrealistic to expect Zoey home every weekend, but she hadn't seen her daughter since they returned from Manchester. Wanting to keep Zoey with her twenty-four/seven didn't change reality; her children needed to build lives of their own, but she'd prefer it if they waited until the White House had new inhabitants.

Zoey smiled and with a soft-spoken "mom", managed to convey that she understood. That was their Zoey, always so attuned to her parents, always aiming to please. Resisting another overprotective hug, she settled for taking her daughter's hand in hers and holding on tightly. "How's dad?"

"You know him, he's looking to call down fire and brimstone on anyone who comes near his family." Realizing her answer was a little snappy, she quickly amended it. "He's okay, munchkin."

"Mom! Do we really need to reinstate that nickname just because I got kidnapped?"

It amazed her how quickly Zoey was able to joke about what happened to her, for Abbey it was still too close to her heart, but she admired her daughter's resilience. Unable to reply with the same lightness, she was grateful when Josh stepped in. "I dunno, kid, I kind of like it. First Daughter Munchkin."

"Do you really want to go there, Mister Barf?"

"That's not fair. We all agreed that anything that happened during the victory party would never be brought up again."

Abbey slowly stood up and wandered to the window, keeping half an ear on the kids' bickering.

"Tough luck for you."

"I liked you better five years ago."

She had to agree with Josh on that one, even though she could tell by the affection in his voice he didn't mean it. Zoey was growing up way to fast. Whatever happened to kissing skinned elbows and watching Sesame Street together? Now her kid was already working on a post-graduate.

There was barely time to take in the Washington skyline before a hand on her forearm pulled her away. "Ma'am, those windows aren't bulletproof." Obeying – what other choice was there? – she followed Janet's lead and instead slouched against the wall, catching her daughter's concerned eyes. When had her little girl matured so much?

The stress of the last twelve hours suddenly caught her by the throat and the walls closed in on her. She never wanted to make these sacrifices!

"Mom?"

"I'm gonna go for a walk."

"I'll come with you."

"No," she just needed to clear her head, banish the images of CJ covered in blood, Zoey with a black eye and her husband's scar. "Stay here with Josh. I'm okay." As soon as she stepped out with her two agents in tow, two agents assigned to Zoey slipped inside. It was just the reality of being part of the First Family. Alone was never alone, a full night's sleep amounted to five hours at most and an afternoon of shopping meant that agents cleared out entire malls. At first, it'd been exciting, almost romantic, not so anymore.

The empty corridor was an image from the nightmares she had as a resident, where she was the only Doctor in a hospital filled with screaming patients suffering the most horrific injuries. This corridor was nothing like the ones he used to travel, running to assist with CPR or perform emergency surgery. There were no nurses hurrying between rooms, no family members holding back tears before stepping inside to visit a dying loved one. The corridor was devoid of all familiar sounds and rather than calm her, the silence vibrated off her nerves.

It was only when she became aware of a commotion in the adjoining wing, that she realized her agents had given up on pacing along with her. Janet put herself between her and the two large doors while Mark spoke quietly into his earpiece.

"What's going on?"

The blonde agent just motioned her to be quiet and herded her back towards the waiting room. This couldn't be an actual threat, could it? They were in a damn hospital surrounded by agents. It had be a misunderstanding.

The agents whispered to each other and being left in the dark once again irked her enough to halt and cross her arms. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on."

"Ma'am, we're just doing our jobs, we need you to return to the waiting room."

If the situation really was dangerous, she had little doubt her stubbornness would get her anywhere. She'd attended the initial briefings and knew these agents would protect her no matter what, even if she didn't want to be protected. In all truth, she held deep respect for these people who were willing to risk their lives without question or hesitation to protect her family, but at the same time she didn't appreciate being kept out of the loop.

Janet and Mark exchanged a look and feeling rather childish, she had to swallow a grin. She'd won. "There's a girl outside claiming to be Miss Cregg's niece, but she can't identify herself and she's alone."

"I'll vouch for her."

Apparently her word didn't mean much; the agents easily cut her off from the doors. "Ma'am, protocol—"

"Good god Mark, you really think a teenager whose aunt is in critical condition poses a threat? I'll take a look, ID her and bring her in. Don't you think the commotion might attract unwanted attention?"

This time, victory didn't come easily. "How well do you know her, ma'am?"

"I've seen her." Once, and that'd been four or so years ago, but she was sure she'd recognize the girl. There was no question CJ and Hogan were related and she doubted that resemblance had faded.

Sure enough, when they allowed her a peek after more whispered words into the hidden microphone and reluctant gestures, she recognized Hogan Cregg immediately. The young adult possessed the same lanky frame her aunt did, her hair a few shades closer to fire and unlike CJ's, naturally straight. The eyes, more than anything, were a dead give-away. Watery blue laced with cool intellect. Not that Hogan appeared very cool at the moment; she gestured wildly at the agents blocking her path, a note of hysteria in her voice as she demanded to see her aunt.

"That's her, let her through." But as she moved closer to the doors to open them, Mark stopped her.

Midway through her objection, she caught Janet nodding to her colleague and hold up one of those Secret gadgets, displaying a picture of Hogan. "It's her."

Mark stepped aside, leaving her torn between getting Hogan, or ripping into her agents. She was so tired of being ignored and caged. Despite the frustration roaring in her chest, she took the high ground and opened the doors. "Hogan?"

The girl's eyes shot instantly in her direction. "Mrs. First Lady, ma'am!"

Smiling, she reached out to grab the distraught teenager by her arm and pulled her into the relative privacy of the emptied wing. "Where are your parents?"

Hogan's pretty face clouded over. With heels, she could just look her in the eye. "Dad's been on the phone with grandpa. Where's my aunt?"

"Let's sit down first," she suggested when they entered the waiting room.

The girl clearly recognized Josh, but didn't greet him and only spared Zoey a cursory glance. "Where's CJ?"

As she sat, so did Hogan, though her shoulders stayed squared and defensive. Her instinct was to reach out and provide physical comfort, but she recognized the body language and kept her distance. "They're still operating on her."

"She'll be okay?"

The hope in those blue and grey eyes constricted her throat. "I…" God, how she hated that question. As a Doctor, sugarcoated honesty was the only accepted option – even if everyone deviated from that once in a while. As a mother and friend, she had another option – to offer hope, but lies in situations like this never sat well with her and she still hadn't been able to shake her own fears. "I don't know."

"Oh."

Josh and Zoey talked in hushed tones, breaking the stretch of silence that followed her answer. Abbey used it to study the new girl. This girl was younger than her daughters, not even eighteen yet, while Zoey'd turned twenty-two just a few weeks ago. She always forgot CJ was so much younger than herself, her sixtieth birthday quickly approaching, ugh.

"He didn't even tell me."

It didn't sound like Hogan meant the comment for anyone other than herself, but she couldn't just let it slide. "What?"

"Dad didn't even tell me she was in the hospital, I saw it on the news." The bitterness in her young voice came out with such force, Josh briefly glanced in their direction.

CJ only ever spoke freely about her niece, only rarely mentioned her brothers, parents or step-mother and while she rarely had time for decent dinners, dates or anything resembling free time, she frequently went shopping with her niece. They were obviously close, which caused Abbey to put more question marks behind her brother's behavior; where was he? "Why?"

"He never liked me hanging out with aunt CJ. Did you see her, before?"

She'd expected the question and already decided not to answer, but Hogan sounded so fragile and finally dared to raise her eyes from the floor to meet Abbey's. She couldn't lie. "Yeah."

"How bad was it?"

Under the scrutiny of a set of eyes oddly familiar, the First Lady sighed, feeling less like Doctor Bartlet than she would've liked. "It was pretty bad, but your aunt's a fighter, she'll be okay." Whether the young girl didn't respond because she recognized false optimism when she heard it, or simply because the situation didn't allow for much trivial talk, she wasn't sure, but the brooding quietness unsettled her. "How did you get here?"

"I took the car."

It took a lot of restraint not to launch into a lecture about the risks of driving while upset, but she managed to tone it down to a brisk, "why didn't your parents come with you?"

"Mom's still at work and dad's been talking to grandpa, he was very upset."

"I'm sure he'll be here soon." She expected him hours ago really, Josh called him in the middle of the night and Hogan's family didn't live that far away.

Hogan shrugged, "he doesn't like aunt CJ much."

She wanted to ask why that was, no yet having met anyone who didn't like CJ. Except for the vice-President, but that appeared to be mutual. No, CJ typically got along with everyone – as useful trait for a press secretary. Why would she be at odds with her own brother? Curiosity didn't overrule common sense however; it wouldn't help Hogan to dwell on strained family relations.

"When can I see her?" Her voice broke.

"Oh honey," she wrapped her arm around Hogan's shoulders and pulled her close, "I wish I knew."


	22. Chapter twenty two: Election Night 1998

**A/N:** In the category 'late but good' (or at least long), chapter 22 (which means 23 weeks of posting, time flies guys!) It's the longest chapter yet and will break the 40,000 words mark and hopefully get me over a hundred reviews too (cool!). I really appreciate all the loyal reviews and am looking forward to everyone's comments as always :)

Cheers!

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**Tempus minus** _five years, twenty-two days, twenty-one hours and nineteen minutes_

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"We won!" CJ smiled patiently at her oldest friend as he continued to stutter, "I'm… I'm happy."

"Good for you, Pokey."

He nodded slowly, alcohol clearly messing with his coordination. It was nearly morning and since Leo and the Governor – no, the President-elect, were locked somewhere in a dark room with Nancy McNally, the CIA and Secret Service director, she was the only sober one at the party. Even Doctor Bartlet had started to slur her words not long after seeing Zoey and Ellie off.

They all deserved the release, but someone had to keep an eye on them. For her, sobriety was a necessary vice regardless; with so many interviews and press conferences scheduled in the morning, a hangover was the last thing she needed.

So when Abbey sauntered up to her, holding two glasses of champagne, she accepted one and stealthily put it down behind one of the flower arrangements, a little surprised by the speed with which the new First Lady emptied hers. At least Dr. Bartlet wasn't scheduled for any public appearances until later in the day.

"I'm married to the President of the United States," Abbey whined suddenly, momentarily distracted when Josh and Sam came dancing by. "I'm now under guard." She pointed to two agents – Presidential detail already? – at a discreet, if minimal distance.

"Congratulations."

The older woman groaned, apparently not appreciative of her joyful explanation, and put down her empty glass. "I need another drink."

Though she understood Mrs. Bartlet's anxiety, CJ wished she wouldn't worry so much. Yes, it was a scary prospect and the personal security briefing hadn't helped, but they'd won. The next eight years they could make a real difference and help many people. They'd leave the country and world a little better off for the next guy.

It was close to six in the morning when Leo suddenly popped up next to her. Caught up in the advanced copies of the morning papers, CJ didn't notice him until he spoke. "How's the party?"

On cue the few people still present, lead by Sam, Josh and Toby's wife Andrea, burst into song. She shrugged and cracked a smile, "you'd hate it."

"That good, huh?" His eyes shone brightly and he looked twenty years younger. It'd be an uphill battle, but in the next eight years they'd lower the poverty level, create a solid and sustainable healthcare system, improve women rights at home and abroad and raise the level of education. Leo was roaring to fight and so were Josh, Sam and Toby.

Well, as soon as the hangovers passed. The magnitude of their victory hadn't really hit her yet, but for now the twinkle in Leo's eyes made it real enough. "They finally let you go?"

"Talk about a cold shower." His mouth twisted. "You didn't have to stay."

"Someone had to keep an eye on the lot."

"Yeah, well, the guys can look after themselves."

Of that, she wasn't so sure. "Oh, I'm not worried about them; they're used to making a fool of themselves." Leo, chuckling, followed her gaze to the in-coming First Lady, her arms around Josh and Toby as she joined them in a poorly concocted victory song.

"I already put the President-Elect to bed!" He threw his arms up in the defense, his smile everything but sympathetic.

Taking the hint, CJ gathered up her courage. She'd tried this not too long ago, with less than admirable results. Before she gave her task another shot, she put her hand on Leo's arm and planted a kiss on his cheek. He held her eyes when she pulled back. "Congratulations Mr. McGarry."

The sudden flood of emotions caught her by surprise and him too evidently. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. They'd really done it: propelled the underdog to President with a few dollars and a lot of sleepless nights.

"I'll take care of her," she promised, indicating Abbey, "you should go and get some rest. Jenny left hours ago."

His eyes on Josh and Sam, Leo nodded. "Yeah."

"They'll e okay."

"Yeah," he repeated, not at all convinced.

Reluctantly, CJ approached the group still partying, not really wanting to break them up. Toby and Andi were quietly dancing, more peaceful and 'together' than she'd seen them for a while. Still, the guys had a lot of work to do tomorrow and while they didn't need to look their best, it helped if they possessed at least a few working brain cells.

When she carefully suggested everyone to go home, only Josh objected. The others, apparently worn out by all the emotions and alcohol, or coaxed by carnal temptations – yes she was looking at Toby – started a drunken search for coats and hotel keys.

While Donna kept an eye on Josh, CJ cornered the First Lady, gently leading her into the hall. "Your car's waiting, ma'am."

The older woman swatted her arm and stumbled. "For the love of God CJ, don't start with that."

"Alright, Abbey." The placation helped and Abbey somewhat steadied herself, keeping on arm around CJ's waist. Though she did her best to keep them going straight, there were some near misses with the walls.

"That was a _great_ party," her charge mused. "You're such a spoil-sport."

"You'll thank me in the morning," she responded dryly.

"I think I'll skip morning."

CJ couldn't blame her, even without the alcohol, dancing and singing, her feet and back ached and her whole body was screaming for sleep. The weeks leading up to this night hadn't exactly been of the easy-going kind. Josh and his big mouth certainly hadn't helped matters. At least they were well on their way when it came to skipping morning.

"I've hardly seen my husband since Donaldson conceded, I guess that's what it's gonna be like." Abbey said defeated, jolting CJ from her thoughts.

"You'll figure something out," she consoled hastily, knowing from experience how quickly Mrs. Bartlet could talk herself into a funk.

"He's so stubborn Claudia, it could cost him so much." If not confused by the sudden rush of words, she certainly was by the forceful grip on her wrist and Abbey's eyes boring into hers. "Promise me you'll look after him."

Because she had no other choice, because she would regardless, and because she never did manage to say no to Abigail Bartlet, CJ nodded. "Of course I will."

Abbey relaxed visibly. "Thank you, you're a good friend Claudia Jean." They moved to kiss each other goodnight, when in the process of reaching up, Abbey lost her balance and quickly grabbed hold of the taller woman's upper arms. The sharp nails digging into skin with quickly forgotten; the upset balance threw off her aim and the lips against her own tasted distinctly of champagne and wine.

It took her a few moments to react, but when she pulled away, Abbey held the kiss for a moment, then broke down in giggles. "Oops." Waving her arms around in a telltale aimless way, she started to make a beeline for the doors. Although in her condition, it resembled more of an s-line.

CJ only just managed to keep her from crashing into an open door. Uncomfortable by Mrs. Bartlet's unusual state of complete intoxication, she prayed there wouldn't be any reporters snooping around by the backdoor.

They'd been making steady progress, when Abbey halted again, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Let's go to a bar, just the two of us! It's still early."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Her charge's face fell. This was a new experience; Abigail Bartlet always carried herself like a wise, unflappable matriarch, never showing anything less than confidence and intelligence. She'd seen so much more than CJ had in her relatively easy life as a PR specialist. Not many severely injured people or corpses had crossed her path. Just the two really.

"This is my last night of freedom," Abbey whined – much like Zoey had earlier that evening, "I have four shadows already!"

There it was, CJ groaned inwardly, the funk she'd been dreading.

Sure enough, the First Lady put her back against the wall and sank to the floor. "This is Jed's dream and _of_ _course_ it came true. How could I doubt that?" CJ sat down next to her, suppressing a shiver from the cold coming off the wall. "He always makes his dreams come true."

"It's eight years Abbey."

"What if it kills him?"

Shocked she stared at her boss' wife. Had the security briefing freaked her out that much?

"We had a deal," Abbey continued morosely, "I'd put my life on hold so he'd get to live his dream, before…" Her low chuckle turned into a sob and she buried her face in her hands.

CJ's heart pounded in her throat. What was this all about? She'd expected anxiety, fear and little care for decorum on the eve of such a massive change in someone's life, but this, this was different. "Abbey? Before what?" She held her breath and waited.

After a moment, Abbey raised her head and ran her thumbs over the rundown mascara on her cheeks. She laughed unexpectedly and hooked her arm around CJ's neck. "Look at me, First Lady of the whole damn country and I'm sitting on the floor, drunk of my ass!" CJ laughed with her out of politeness, still shaken by her desolate tone just moments ago. "I haven't been this drunk in ages. No surgeries, I'm not on call, don't have to watch the kids or travel half across the country. I guess I could get used to this." To her credit, Abbey sounded sincere. "Help an old lady up, will you?"

"Of course."

Getting up still proved a struggle. With the First Lady's arms locked around her neck, CJ worked hard to keep them balanced. As soon as they stood, Abbey released and set about meticulously smoothing every crease and wrinkle out of her skirt and blouse.

They reached the backdoor unscathed. Abigail even managed to walk somewhat straight, her unfocussed eyes giving away inebriety. CJ tried to make eye contact with the agents guarding the door, praying the First Lady's escapades wouldn't end up in tomorrow's newscycle.

The two agents in their crisp, black suits –sans shades – didn't move a muscle and probably wouldn't even if they'd come dancing down the hall naked, like Leo said. It put her at ease.

The chill of an early November morning this far from the equator blasted her face as soon as the door opened and cut through her skin, straight to her bones. Abigail, used to a New Hampshire winter, took a deep breath and smiled broadly, her eyes turned to the star-dotted sky. "It's going to be a beautiful day."

Beautiful or not, it would be busy. Really, very, incredibly busy. Her teeth chattering, she tried to usher Mrs. Bartlet into the waiting car, eager to return to the warmth inside. But Abbey turned and grabbed her hands. "I am happy for him, CJ. I just don't know if I'm ready for this."

"You will be," she promised with more conviction that she felt. Could anyone be truly ready for the task they'd sought? "We have two months before the inaugu—"

"Ma'am, we need you to step in the car."

To CJ's relief, Abbey didn't object – but of course she didn't comply right away either. "Claudia, thank you."

The sincerity caught her by surprise and she just nodded in return. "Any time."

The agent who'd urged Abbey into the car simply began to shut the door, forcing his charge to sit. "The Secret Service is a lot less fun since we won," the First Lady commented with a cocky grin, before disappearing behind bulletproof glass.

CJ shook her head and headed back inside. There were still a few hours left before the day kicked off. If she skipped her workout this morning, didn't blow-dry her hair and only read through the national papers, she could catch a two-hour nap on her office couch. Combined with copious amounts of coffee, that should be just enough to get her through the press briefing and the first five interviews.

"Hey."

"Oh my God!" Her heart skipped a beat and her body jumped involuntarily away from the unexpected voice. Heady on adrenaline she turned around, taken a few seconds to identify the figure in the corner. "Sam!"

He smiled up at her lopsidedly, his eyes focusing slowly. "Donna took Josh home."

"That's good," her voice trailed off, _he_ didn't look good.

"Yeah," his smile widened, "that is good."

"Just how drunk are you, Sam?" She'd worried least about him, Sam knew his limits.

He shook his head and pulled himself upright in the chair. His insanely nice hair was a little tousled, but still looked like it came straight out of a shampoo commercial. She hated that part of him with a passion, convinced he only ever had to run his hand through it. She, on the other hand, could easily spend an hour or two styling her unruly curls and they still wouldn't look as good. "I'm just really tired."

"Then go home, Sam."

"You're still here." She fixed him with a stare, not in the mood to play games. This was cutting into precious naptime. "I can't find my room key."

Leaving her friend, CJ quickly strode into her office and rummaged through the accumulation of car keys on her desk. It figured someone hadn't paid attention to which keys they were giving off. Thankfully she recognized Sam's key easily, having a similar one herself. Back in the large foyer, she dangled it in front of his face. "Do I need to call you a cab?"

Slowly and carefully, Sam pushed himself up to stand. "Nah, I'll get one outside." It seemed unlikely at this hour, but he was a big boy with a cell phone and she really needed her beauty sleep. He paused on his way out and turned back to her, "you've got some lipstick," he warned, gesturing drunkenly at his mouth.

"Thanks." The back of her hand came away in dark red make-up when she dragged it across her lips. What a night. She gathered up the newspapers she'd been reading earlier and skimmed through the rest of the pages. There was nothing unexpected, which was a relief. Unfortunately, Josh' blunder still got more attention than she liked. She'd have to pull in all favors to crush it tomorrow. Or today really.

Now she found it too difficult to think straight and unceremoniously dumped the papers on her desk before slowly stretching her body out on the couch. One hour and fifty minutes, then a quick shower and she'd be good to go. Really. Although the couch was far from comfortable, her body relaxed easily and her eyes fell shut before she could get herself to pull off her shoes.

"CJ?"

The voice cut sharply through the dark of sleep and she turned her face away, shutting it out. "Go away."

"CJ."

Her alarm hadn't gone off yet, there was no earthly reason to get up. She repeated herself and desperately tried to hold on to the dissipating threads of sleep. She'd always been a quick riser and once awoken rarely managed to fall back asleep.

"Claudia Jean?"

With a sigh she carefully cracked one eye open. There were only a few people who called her by her full name. "What time is it?"

There was a brief pause while she opened her other eye, flinching when the light shot sharply through her head. "Twenty past eight."

Crap, she'd just been cheated out of ten precious minutes! "This had better been good."

"Oh, it is."

Shit, she did know that voice. "Governor." A wave of dizziness rolled over her when she sat up too quickly. Hastily she felt around for her glasses. Relieved that when she put them on, the vague blob by the door took on a familiar shape. "Mr. President."

Jed Bartlet grinned. The glint in his eyes the same as the one her brothers used to sport on Christmas mornings and birthdays. "That would be me."

"Yes, sir." She matched his grin, wondering why she suddenly felt small and nervous next to this man. Authority figures never intimidated her.

"What are you doing here, CJ?"

Gingerly she tested her feet, pleased to find the soreness almost gone. "I figured there wasn't much sense in returning to the hotel."

"Breakfast?"

Prepared for the 'take-care-of-yourself' speech the Bartlets excelled at, it took her a moment to process his question. "Please."

Breakfast turned out to be coffee from the machine down the hall and leftover bagels from the day before. All in all better than she'd had all week.

"Did my wife behave herself last night?"

Stunned by the question, she eyed him for a long moment, pondering her options. "It was a party, sir," she hedged.

"She had one hell of a hangover when I woke her," his mouthed twisted in what appeared to be amusement. "Said the whole night sort of blended together."

Ah, the I'm-so-tired-and-drunk haze she remembered well from her college days. Where was he going with this? Surely he wasn't accusing her of letting Abbey drink too much? Sure, she'd thought about stopping her, but Mrs. Bartlet was a grown woman, not to mention stubborn as a mule. "It was a pretty emotional day."

He contemplated her answer while swirling his coffee round and round in its cup. The haze of sleep almost lured her into a slouch before she caught herself. "I know she has her reservations." It took a little doing, but she kept her expression neutral under his expectant gaze. If he wanted someone to spy on his wife, he'd come knocking on the wrong door. "If she said something…"

"With all due respect Mr. President," the title suddenly felt a lot heavier than it had last night. She worked for the President of the United States now – the most powerful man in the country, and arguably the world.

He interrupted her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yeah, female loyalty." His voice was wounded and she could just imagine his daughters and wife conspiring against him over the years.

"I just think it'd be more beneficial if you both feel like you can speak freely to me." She dared a grin, "besides, I have little desire to stick my nose in your marriage."

Though his expression was in the 'aw-shucks' region, there was a softness in his eyes that spoke of the love and affection he felt for his wife. She'd seen them fight like cats and dogs, going at each other with everything they had. They were both stubborn, ambitious and brilliant. Competing to outgun and outsmart each other, but never begrudging one another for a deserved win, or pouring salt in open wounds. "I take it, it was quite a party."

"Quite the victory party," Pleased he let the subject go, CJ corrected him with a grin.

"Forty-two percent," he mocked, "the majority of Americans didn't vote for me."

Good thing she'd seen this one coming, "the majority of Americans didn't vote for anyone."

"How much did the ACLA thing hurt us?"

CJ shifted in her chair, glancing from her half-eaten bagel to the desk and back. "Hard to tell, we still won Texas."

"Your regular-day miracle."

It was just too early to be this cynical. "Or maybe proof that people can make good, rational decisions once in a while."

The President caught her eyes, a smile finally gracing his face. "Forty-two percent of them can."


	23. Chapter twenty three

_A/N:_ This whole thing about updating every weekend isn't going very well lately, my sincere apologies for that. I wish I had a little more time to work on this story, but alas, writing is pretty time consuming as it is. I feel a little guilty, since a lot of you are being real sweethearts with regular reviews and you guys got me over a hundred, which is awesome, thank you! I am taking notes of all the errors pointed out and fixing them in my documents. Once I get around to it, I'll upload the corrected chapters :)  
There've been some concerns raised about a possible slashy-direction of this story, all I'll say on that matter is that this isn't a romance-story, period. If anyone would like additional assurances, feel free to pm or e-mail and I'll provide a spoiler or two *grin*

Please feel free to keep sharing your thoughts on this story, I love reading them :)

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**Tempus plus** thirteen hours and three minutes

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"Yeah. Okay." His eyes slid over the pictures on his desk, searching for the one to match the voice on the other side of the line. She sounded calm and collected, but there were telltale tremors in her voice. "Abbey," he didn't want to interrupt her, but Debbie's little warning light flashed. "I have a staff meeting…" Her response was on the side of sweet, a little too much so- if you asked him, which no one did. They asked him about everything else under the sun, but wouldn't touch the subject of his marriage.

The door opened before they could say their goodbyes and although these people had heard him say worse things, he felt oddly self-conscious and murmured a quick 'I love you'.

Only Leo met his eyes when he started the meeting, the others stared at their hands or at the iconic, blue carpet. It almost amused him how easily they fell back into old habits. Sam sat next to Josh on the couch as if he'd never left. They sought strength in each other's presence, wearing identical expressions, like young boys about to receive a strict talking to.

Farther away, keeping his distance as always, stood Toby. The man didn't make a sound and yet he could almost hear the low, displeased rumbling that often seemed to emanate from the writer's chest.

"Any news?"

Bringing his eyes back to the two younger men, he relayed what his wife had told him, "they got the bullet out of her leg and are trying to repair the damage now."

"Okay." Josh nodded, his tone raising a pitch. "Do we know how he got the gun past security?"

"He didn't." The answer came, of course, from Toby. Instantly and quietly, as was his way.

The men looked at him though, rightly assuming the Secret Service shared their findings with him in greater detail. "The shooter knocked a Park Police guard unconscious and took his gun."

"And no one noticed?!"

"It didn't have to take long," Sam countered weakly, riling up his friend into a discussion that excluded the other men in the room.

In the back, Toby remained quiet while Josh and Sam bounced their frustration off each other. That quiet usually meant an eruption was brewing. After almost six years, that little man with his big words still intimidated him. Not because of his passionate tirades, but because Toby Ziegler stood behind the principles close to his heart no matter what.

They'd all learned to make compromises in this capital city, giving up ideals that for a long time defined who they were, but Toby was different. Toby possessed an utter conviction in his core beliefs he'd never known, not in God, himself, or Leo, or even his marriage anymore. He envied Toby for it.

"How did he get inside at all?" Flustered by the sudden awareness of others besides himself and Josh, Sam faltered, "I mean, you can't just walk into the West Wing…" his eyes shot back and forth. "There's security… and stuff."

Why hadn't he let Ron handle this briefing? "He had an appointment; his background check didn't raise any flags." In fact, it'd been clean as a whistle. Christopher Strasser was a decorated Gulf War veteran, without ties to anyone on the White House black list. Or so they'd thought.

Josh sat up a little straighter, "with who?"

The weight of the guys' stares rested heavily on his shoulders. He couldn't meet their eyes, dodging the recrimination by keeping his aimed at the gleaming surface of his desk. "With CJ."

None of them responded to the revelation for long, drawn-out moments, until Toby let out a strangled "why?"

"Maybe she didn't know he was…"

His Communications Director balanced on the balls of his feet, a storm brewing in dark eyes. "Well, isn't this just a shining example of the best security in the nation!" Sam flinched visibly and faced the carpet.

"There will be a thorough investigation into how this could happen." The men wisely held their tongues. To him, the promise of an investigation sounded just as useless. "All right, what else?"

After a few seconds, Josh slowly raised his head. "Donna's been fielding calls about CJ's… condition," he swallowed. "I have a meeting with Charlene Marschant from the UN at five."

"Isn't she on the agriculture commission?"

"Yeah."

Leo's whole being came to attention; it never failed to amaze him how such minutes changes in expression and body language created a completely different kind of Leo. "We're not cutting back subsidies to American farmers. They're not exactly cheerleading for us as it is!"

"I know, but maybe we should see if there's another way to help."

"We just got our numbers up, let's try not to plunge them back into the Mariana Trench!" His tone brooked no argument.

"I could just cancel the meeting," Josh offered hopefully, but Leo wasn't having it.

"Like hell you can."

Defeated, Josh sank back in the couch.

Toby spoke up, his eyes on Leo. "We'll need to address Haffley."

"Why? Our Press Secretary was just shot, I don't think anyone expects us to be nice to NRA right now."

The writer easily matched his boss' hostile tone, "really, you don't think they'll be eager to point out that CJ was shot with a government-issued weapon?"

The comment hit like a bomb, voiding the room of air until Josh succinctly summarized everyone's feelings. "Shit."

As usual, Leo regained his bearings first. "Okay. Toby, work on a national address with someone from Legal, keep me informed. Josh, I want you on the phone with the NRA president and Haffley. Maybe they'll play nice." His face scrunched up as he said it. Leo's deputy started to open his mouth, but was cutoff before a sound came out. "No, you're not getting out of the UN meeting. Sam, when's the next briefing?"

"Carol gave the press an update on CJ's condition thirty minutes ago, the next briefing is scheduled at four. Unless there's news…"

"When does Henry get here?"

Sam shrugged. "Three, I think."

"Okay. You'll do that briefing too."

Recognizing the look his mentor shot him, Jed rose from his passive spectators place. "All right, you've got your marching orders." After the three bid their goodbyes and shut the door behind them, he turned to Leo, who slowly took a seat. "You know it makes me look weak when you go Admiral Chew-out on them."

"You are weak," Leo deadpanned perfectly.

"Say that again when I fire your ass."

Leo's smile grew wider, but the humor slowly disappeared from his voice. "With pleasure… sir." His long time friend rested his right foot a-top his left knee and allowed a weary sigh. "An investigation."

Jed toyed absently with the pen on his desk. "Protocol." It was a Mrs. Landingham-pen, at least that's what he called it. Undoubtedly bought by Debbie Fiderer.

"We both know what the outcome's gonna be."

"Yeah." This pen was perfect for scrawling notes to his daughters or wife, perfect for any meeting not including photographers or country-sized ego's. Most of all, it perfectly distracted him from things he didn't want to face and it also helped him monitor his fine motor skills – another thing he usually distracted himself from.

"You going to the hospital?"

Carefully he put down the pen. "Yeah, Zoey's there," he offered by way of excuse, not that he needed to.

"Okay, but first there's someone here to see you."

The President eyed the two stealthily hidden doors suspiciously. "If it's the Qumar ambassador again I'll have the Secret Service take him down."

Leo brought his head up and slowly heaved himself out of the chair, a small grin playing on his lips. "I don't think it works quite like that."

"It should."

With just the tiniest amount of disapproval in his eyes, his Chief of Staff moved closer to the door. Sometimes it felt as if Leo was the president, and he was just his hand puppet. Where he'd taken comfort in that before, now he doubted the validity of those feelings. Ever since CJ had gotten into his face and demanded him to lead, he'd been pondering the way he relied on his staff. Toby and Will's ongoing dialogue about Russell's chances at the presidency didn't help. If a good staff could make a good president, why bother with a president at all?

Leo, in the meantime, had reached the door and looked at him. "It's not the Qumar ambassador; it's Lieutenant Miller."

"He's the one who--?"

"Yeah."

When the door opened, it revealed a young man about Leo's height in a crisp, familiar uniform. His blue eyes darted nervously around the Oval before hesitantly settling on some point over Jed's shoulder. "Mr. President, sir!"

"At ease, Lieutenant." Of course, in this place at ease and not at ease were almost undistinguishable. There was only the slightest drop of the young man's shoulders and he finally dared to meet his President's eyes. "How's your head?"

"It's fine, sir."

"Did you see a Doctor?"

The kid nodded. "Just a minor concussion."

He could tell his visitor wanted to say more, knew what the next subject would be. His chest tightened. Unwilling to face the conversation written on this young man's face, Jed quickly interjected another question. "How old are you, son?"

"Twenty-seven, sir."

"You must be good then." The Park Police, a subdivision of the National Park Service, wasn't easy to get assigned to, let alone to the team securing the White House.

The kid looked younger than his twenty-seven years and fumbled uncharacteristically with the buttons on his sleeve. "Usually, sir."

Reluctantly, but recognizing that this conversation had to be had, he motioned the Lieutenant to approach him. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Miller took a deep breath and cast his eyes down. "I'd just finished my round through the West Wing and started my break. We're…" he hesitated, only continuing after an encouraging nod from his Commander in Chief, "we're supposed to go to the locker room and secure our guns, but my girl – she's been sick. I – I just wanted to call her, privately, before going down. This guy came into the bathroom and, and," his voice faltered, "he wore a uniform, I only turned my back on him for a moment, let my guard down. I'm really sorry Mr. President, it was stupid."

It took Jed a moment or two process the story. He couldn't help but feel it was too mundane, such an innocent mistake with such a heart wrenching consequence. "You saw a uniform and figured it was a friendly," he summarized, struggling with his emotions. He'd never served, but how could someone who'd dedicated his life to serve his country attempt to kill a kindred spirit? CJ might not have worn a uniform, but she served her country with just as much conviction and passion – all his staff did. "I don't think anyone can truly blame you for that."

"I can."

"We're all shaken," he started, finally ready to give voice to a scenario plaguing his mind for the better part of this horrid day, "but if he hadn't attacked her here, he might have followed her home, away from the guards or my wife, away from anyone who could have helped her."

Miller's blue eyes held his. "That doesn't make me feel better, sir."

"Yeah," Jed sighed, "me either."


	24. Chapter twenty four: autumn 1998

_A/N:_ The last few reviews are my favorite ones yet! Thank you all so much for taking the time to write them (and for taking the time to read too, of course) :)

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**Tempus minus** five years, sixteen days and nineteen hours

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"They want to talk to you next."

Slowly CJ Cregg glanced up from her desk. She'd only made it halfway through the report in her hands, having managed the better part of the morning to convince herself this wasn't the day. "Did you get it?"

Josh shrugged indifferently. The brief gesture enough to make her wonder why his media appearances usually ended in disaster; he could hide his emotions brilliantly if he tried. Well, not so much hide, as showcase them. He overplayed his emotions, confusing his opponent. "We'll talk, they're waiting." Unsure why she even considered the negative outcome, she unhurriedly navigated the long, twisting corridor to President Bartlet's office.

She still wasn't quite used to the new feel that hung in the corridors and offices of these headquarters. The hectic days of campaigning were behind them and now that the post-victory media frenzy slowly fizzled out, there was a new sense of purpose in the air. Slower paced, but certainly not any less intense. The scope of it all overwhelmed her. Could she work in this environment for four – hopefully eight – years? Would she be good enough? Fresh doubt drew tight around her chest as she approached Mrs. Landingham's desk. Maybe they didn't even want her.

"Hello dear," the secretary greeted brightly, "they're waiting for you." What would she do if they didn't want her? It wasn't like she had a solid contingency plan. Although her résumé wasn't all that bad, having ran a winning presidential campaign. "Do you want a cookie?"

CJ shook her head. "No thanks."

The answer seemed to take Mrs. Landingham by surprise and they locked eyes for a moment, until the older woman nodded almost imperceptibly. She held her clipboard tight to her chest and took a deep breath. Job interviews were the absolute worst.

The door creaked when she opened it. Which it always had, but now it startled her. She hated this teenage-like creature she turned into whenever her future was uncertain. "Poppycock, Leo," the new President's voice greeted her.

"I was just saying," Leo countered with an obvious laugh in his voice.

"Blasphemy. Oh, CJ, come in!" She did as he asked and approached the two men. The President-Elect behind his desk and Leo in the left of two chairs facing their boss. "Leo was just harassing me."

"I find that hard to believe, sir."

President Bartlet eyed her with mock-suspicion, then turned to his friend. "Is she being smart with me?"

Leo shrugged. "I'd say so. And a good thing too."

Their jovial mood surprised CJ. None of the staff had seen much of either man between interviews and staff briefings. She knew they were in the middle of a crash-course in anything related to Homeland Security and the military aspects of, well, running a country. She'd expected boredom and weariness from these men. Instead, she faced two schoolboys trying to egg on the teacher.

"You did a good job on the campaign, CJ."

"Thank you, sir." His expression changed ever so slightly. She still felt a little weird addressing him so formally all the time, as if she paid visits to the headmaster. Necessary evils like this came with the territory however. The President should at all times be addressed with the proper respect, unless he waved that bit of protocol.

"I wish you would stop that."

"Bad idea… sir. You want us following protocol, not just because we should, but because if we don't, why would others?"

"This is why you want to keep her?"

CJ followed her boss' eyes to Leo and caught his curt nod. "And she's tall," the veteran added after a second.

"It's a good thing you're tall," Jed took it upon himself to explain, "because I'm not." His tone of voice made it clear what he thought about that particular reason.

CJ grinned. "And a tall, female Press Secretary will emphasize your stature less than a taller male Press Secretary."

"Apparently." She almost laughed at his barely hidden contempt. After eight years of public office and a two-year national campaign, you'd think he understood how much every detail of a public image mattered. "Anyway, it looks like we've got that part covered."

Leo nodded. "We have."

"Though now I'm wondering if we shouldn't see if Big Bird is up for the job," the President-Elect continued casually, "he's even taller, and he's a bird. Ellie loved him as a kid," he mused.

After exchanging a look with Leo, CJ decided not to burn herself. Sure enough, Leo took care of it, "yeah, but think about the feathers."

"Hmm." Poker face neatly in place, Bartlet nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

This certainly was an unusual job-interview, though it still didn't top her first interview for a local campaign. Brett Crocker, running for a post she couldn't remember in a town she couldn't recall, had only wanted to hear her say his name – thirty times. During the ill-fated campaign, his self-absorbed antics hadn't let up. Thank God, Toby got her out of there before she seriously hurt the man. Never again did she take a job on a campaign just because she needed the money – and there wasn't much money to begin with.

"I have another offer."

"What?" She stared at the man behind the desk. What was he talking about? She wasn't qualified for any of the other positions she might consider or want.

"Chief of Staff."

"But," her eyes shot to Leo. What the hell?

"Not mine," Jed clarified after a moment, a 'got you' look in his blue eyes. "Abbey's. She wants you to run the East Wing."

The offer took her by surprise. She got along well with the First Lady and admired the older woman a great deal. Not that long ago she'd summed up all the important issues the East Wing could pursue, had convinced her boss' wife that First Ladies were more than arm ornaments or baggage and could make a real difference. As Chief of Staff she'd get a say in their choice of issues and that certainly tempted her.

Her gut however, instantly recoiled. She didn't join this campaign to work for the First Lady. She didn't fight so hard to be accepted as one of the boys, only to work for, as many saw it, the necessary evil that was the East Wing. She wanted to serve this President and in doing so, would do her best to support his wife and their daughters. The American Presidency was after all, not a one-man deal.

"What about the others?"

The two men looked at her oddly. "What about them?" Bartlet asked cautiously.

CJ shrugged. She knew it was a bit of a faux pas to ask, but the four of them were a team. "Well, I think Josh' got deputy Chief of Staff. Sam's a little inexperienced, so maybe deputy Communications Director for him and Toby as his – our – boss?" But Jed's face scrunched up when she got to Toby. "Toby pulled me in."

"I told him to talk to you," Leo injected.

She faced him squarely. "He said you wanted me, but I doubt you even knew who I was," she smiled to take the sting out of her reaction. She didn't blame him, her work with EMILY's list raised her profile somewhat, but she'd never worked on a national campaign and wouldn't have registered on the radar of someone as high-up in the democratic hierarchy as Leo. "Toby got me on board, I owe him."

"You're saying you won't work for us if we don't keep Toby?"

It took a little effort not to blush or look away. The President's voice took on a threatening quality. She hadn't meant it that way, but now found herself considering her options. She'd be a fool to walk away because Toby wouldn't be her boss. Toby'd think so too. At the same time, they were old friends and Toby would be devastated if Bartlet chose to let him go. "I'm saying," she started carefully, "that Toby's the best man for the job."

"I've asked David Rosen."

CJ stole a glance at Leo, trying to gauge his position. Her stomach churned into knots. She wanted to be Press Secretary, but always assumed she'd be working under Toby. It felt like they asked her to betray him.

"We're telling you this," Leo said softly, "because Toby did bring you on board."

There'd been a few moments in her life, when her usual calculated nature decided to knowingly make mistakes or cross lines. Some of those moments cost her dearly, others paid off in many wonderful ways. As she addressed the Commander in Chief, she had no idea what the price of this one would be. "I'd be honored to be your Press Secretary, Mr. President, but I think you know I don't follow orders blindly. If such a level of honesty is acceptable to you, I'd be more than happy to serve my country, and my President."

President Bartlet held her eyes for a long moment, then sealed the deal with a curt nod and a small smile.

CJ took a deep breath. "Toby put his heart and soul in this campaign, but that's not why you should offer him that position. You should hire him because he's just as brilliant and stubborn and passionate as you are." The small smile on his face transformed into a thin, hard line. Her heart pounded rapidly in her throat. "Sir."

"I think you'd better leave before I change my mind, Ms. Cregg."

"Yes, sir." She left quickly, leaving the two men to their silence.

It was the President-Elect who finally brought his eyes from the door to his old friend and begrudgingly spoke, "so, you were right."

Leo brought his eyes up, his voice devoid of humor. "You should've seen that one coming."

"I want Rosen."

"You really don't," he countered, ignoring the petulant tone. "Let me handle the staff."

"Last time I let you handle the staff, you fired everyone I knew!"

"And look where it's gotten you."

Jed harrumphed and moved around his desk to sit down opposite of Leo, breathing heavily to air his frustration. "I'm just not sure of him."

Leo eyed him frankly. "He scares you."

"Like hell he does!" Defiantly Jed squared his shoulders, only to slump seconds later. "Maybe a little," he amended quietly. "Anyway, I've already asked Rosen."

Leo just smirked and got to his feet. "I'll go tell CJ you're not going to fire her."

"Who says I'm not thinking about it? I know I'm supposed to be big on honesty, but life would be so much easier if everyone just does as I say."

"You don't want easy." Begrudgingly Bartlet nodded. He really didn't want easy, but sometimes easy'd be nice. "I'll bring Sam back."

"Yeah, might as well."

Barely two steps out of the office, Leo came face to face with his newly appointed deputy. "She didn't look too happy," Josh commented as he tagged along. "You did hire her, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. She still didn't look happy." Many democrats- and republicans for that matter – had long since recognized the potential this young man possessed, but many also warned for his temper en hard-headedness. Yes, Josh was young and habitually acted before thinking, but they needed that. Leo needed that. His own years quickly snuck up on him; he needed a deputy with boundless energy and an ego to match. A bulldog who could do the dirty work and charm and impress his way back into a victim's good graces.

He let himself into CJ's office after a knock, leaving Josh behind in the middle of a sentence about some thing or other. He really paid far less attention to what his staff said than they thought.

"Leo." Her tone was familiar and sometimes he wondered how Jenny and Abbey managed to use the exact same pitch. It said 'I'm pissed off about something so obvious I won't bother to explain'. Efficient, at least.

"He's a little miffed he didn't get much of a say in the senior staff." CJ's gaze thawed a little, but only just enough to dispel hints of a new ice age. "I brought on Toby and Josh, Josh took Sam along and Toby hired you." Unsure why he bothered to explain himself, her gaze at least thawed further.

"Toby intimidates him." His surprise must've registered on his face; now she explained. "It's not that obvious, but he tries to look taller when Toby's around."

Careful not to confirm her observation – even though they both knew she was right – Leo grinned. Until a few weeks ago, he hadn't been sure about CJ. Yes, she was good at what she did, possibly one of the best, and pulled off a few impressive PR-strategies, but she flew under the radar too much for his liking.

At first, he'd thought she felt insecure around the others, then there'd been a time when it seemed more like disinterest than shyness. Only in the last few months, he realized she really just pulled the strings from behind her curtain. Playing press and co-workers alike, on her best days in such a subtle and refined way, no one noticed or cared. A great contrast to Josh and Toby's bluntness.

"Does Toby still have a chance?"

Maybe Jed was right. "Yeah."

She raised her head. "Really? He already asked Rosen, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

"You think he'll decline?" The corners of his mouth pulled up in spite of his attempt to keep a straight face. CJ's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"'Cause I told him so."

Their new Press Secretary laughed. "I'm sure that'll make the President-Elect feel better," she commented dryly when her laughter died down.

Leo just shrugged. "He'll deal."

"And so shall we." They held each other's eyes for a moment and he knew with sudden clarity he'd curse himself for hiring this lot many times, but would never truly regret it.

"Your first assignment is to work with the Secret Service and the press to come up with a manageable protocol to guarantee Zoey's, Ellie's and Liz' privacy."

"Walk in the park," she deadpanned. "I assume the President-Elect has a few thoughts on the matter?"

"Which he'll be happy to share with you tomorrow after the staff meeting."

CJ grimaced. "Thanks for the warning."

Time for the next victim. "Sam?"

"In the basement."

"The basement?" What the hell?

He could tell it took her some effort not to grin. "Toby's punishing him for not burning the Concession speech as soon as the results were in and they had a small disagreement about the Inauguration. Toby wants as much distance between them as possible to ward off any 'sub-par punctuation and general bad mojo'."

"The Inauguration is just two months away."

Losing the battle with herself, CJ giggled before catching herself. "I believe that was part of the disagreement."

He'd heard enough, and told her as much on his way to the door. "I don't want to know."

Still struggling to keep a straight face, she nodded and watched him leave, her voice just loud enough to reach him. "You really don't."


	25. Chapter twenty five

A/N: it's a chapter of milestones! The twenty-fifth chapter, on my twenty-fifth birthday, bringing the story over fifty-thousand words, fifteen-thousand hits and my big file (including future chapters) over a hundred pages. I certainly didn't see this coming when I started the story! Many thanks to everyone taking the time to read all this and especially thanks to everyone reviewing, I'm not sure I could've kept this story going without your encouragement and kind words. As always, happy reading!

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**Tempus plus** seventeen hours and thirty-nine minutes

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Guiltily President Bartlet checked his watch, an anniversary gift from Abbey, too long ago to remember which one. The four o'clock briefing had come and gone, as well as another security briefing, a meeting with the Joint Chiefs, a rather tense discussion with his VP, an especially boring lecture, courtesy of Legal Council and – of course – a run-in with the Qumar ambassador.

Now it was almost seven and he still hadn't made it out of the White House. His next mistake was to stop by Sam's office to belatedly congratulate the young man on holding his own while faced with a ravenous press corps. The office was empty, but next door Toby's wasn't.

"—nough with the naivety!" Through the narrow opening between door and wall, he couldn't see anything but a small sliver of white wall and though he shouldn't, he paused to listen in on their conversation. Not behavior appropriate of a president, but right now he didn't really care.

"He's just saying—"

"That's the problem, isn't it? Everyone's 'just saying'!"

"Toby, we're trying to… what would you have us do?" It never seized to amaze him how calm Josh could be if the situation truly required it. "Send the President out there with guns blazing? We all know that won't accomplish anything. Half the House will agree with him, half won't."

"So send Russell out there." Even after five years, the three men shot to their feet – Toby a fraction behind the others in quiet protest.

"Sir!"

"At ease boys." Sam and Josh slowly retook their seats, Toby leaned against his desk defiantly, arms crossed. "Send Russell," Jed repeated to re-energize the discussion.

Toby predictably took the bait. "_You_ are the President, not Bi- Bob Russell!"

"Exactly." It was no secret Russell hadn't been his choice either.

With a snap of his fingers, Josh caught on. "Of course! We need to get Will in here." Naturally, Toby sputtered objections, but the deputy Chief of Staff ignored him and bellowed for his assistant. "Donna! Call over to OEOB and get Will over here!" There was no indication the young blonde heard him, or was even within earshot, but that didn't appear to concern anyone.

"You can't give this to Russell."

"Why not?"

Toby glared at him. "Because you're the President, you're CJ's boss and this is your White House!" His White House, in which a lunatic shot his Press Secretary. He didn't need anyone pointing that out to him.

Perhaps it was for the better that Josh spoke before he could. "Yes, but there's nothing to win! Half of everyone is going to disagree with him, so let Russell stick his hand in the snake-pit."

"Sure and while we're at it, let's issue a statement that President Bartlet relinquished executive control of the country to Bingo Bob Russell!" Toby's voice thundered through the small office, his frustration thick and palpable in the air.

Maybe he should intervene, but Josh appeared to have the situation under control. "We let Russell do the statement and someone's gonna ask where the President is."

"Exactly," Toby grumbled, "and then what?"

Josh grinned triumphantly, his dimples showing, "then we say the President is visiting CJ."

If he didn't know how close to Toby's heart these issues were, he might've cracked a joke at the man's crestfallen expression. "I can…" the Communications Director paused, then sputtered, "…actually live with that."

"I don't know," Sam piped up, "it feels wrong to politicize the situation."

"It's already been politicized for us." Josh pointed out, waving a handful of memos around. From this distance and without his glasses, the President couldn't make out what they said.

"Okay." Apparently they said enough to waylay Sam's objection. "But what if he doesn't agree with the statement?"

"He will," Toby promised ominously, but Donna interrupted him before he could explain.

"Will's here," she announced, visibly taken aback by the President's presence.

"Give us a few minutes. Sir," the earlier energy disappeared from Josh's voice, "we need you at the hospital."

Jed nodded, he needed to be at the hospital for reasons that had nothing to do with politics or PR. "I'm outta here." He patted Will Bailey on the shoulder out of reflex when they crossed paths. He'd always liked the kid and though he didn't begrudge him wanting to work for the next guy, he couldn't help but see it as another sign the end of his reign quickly approached. At least he'd get some real time to spend with his family.

It also meant he had only three years left to be remembered for something other than MS, kidnappings and shootings. Not exactly the legacy he wanted to leave behind and certainly not the legacy his staff deserved.

Mrs. Fiderer and Charlie worked quietly at their desks. Not uncommon for this time of day, but things had been relatively quiet. "Go home."

"Are you?"

He eyed his bodyman, resting his gaze briefly on the single picture on the young man's desk. "I'm going in to see Leo and then I'm going to the hospital."

Charlie's face dropped. "I'll come," he offered.

"Nah, you guys can harass her when she's awake." Debbie's gaze remained even; her expression didn't give away any emotions she might have about the situation, which said enough in itself. Charlie slouched back in his chair.

It wasn't until his car pulled up at the hospital that he realized Charlie might've wanted to come because of Zoey. He might still be uncomfortable with the thought of his daughters dating – or getting married for that matter -, but at least Charlie was one hell of a better choice than that little French weasel.

"Dad!" The weight on his shoulders lifted when Zoey leapt into his arms. He held her close for as long as she let him, then studied her when she stepped back. "You look thin."

Abbey always accused Zoey of being too much like him, but the exasperation on her face when she shook her head was all Abigail. Speaking of which, "where's your mother?"

"Next door." He already started for the door when she continued. "Dad, this is Hogan," he followed her gaze to the corner, only now noticing the young girl curled up in one of the chairs."She's—"

"CJ's niece."

Surprised, his daughter stared at him. "How'd you know?"

With false frivolity, he retorted, "I'm supposed to know these things." He never liked lying to his kids, but some things they just didn't need to know. The girl looked almost exactly like she had in the pictures that crossed his desk a year and a half ago.

CJ had refused protection then, fought her detail tooth and nail, until pictures of Hogan turned up. "Hello Hogan."

The girl looked up, her voice thin, "hi," and brought her eyes back to whatever point she'd been staring at.

Zoey shrugged. "Mom's talking to her dad in the next room."

Wordlessly he acknowledged his daughter and left her to find his wife. Maybe she had news… From the corridor, he could hear muffled voices coming from the adjacent room. They clarified as soon as he cracked open the door.

"—not heartless, Mrs. Bartlet, but there's nothing Hogan can do here. She's free to visit as often as she wants after classes, but she can't take time off school."

Abbey's voice was terse. He couldn't help but smile. His wife was a firecracker and God he loved her for it. "Mr. Cregg, CJ isn't suffering from a sprained ankle. This could kill her."

"My sister is stronger than she looks, she'll be fine. Christmas recess starts in three weeks, Hogan can spend all her time here if she chooses, but I'm not writing her a note."

That did it. Jed pushed the door all the way open, noting that while CJ's brother certainly looked caught off guard, his wife didn't. "I'll write her a note," he offered lightly, "that should do the trick."

CJ's brother didn't appear at all intimidated, which was a bit of a letdown. He wrote it off as a family trait. The man was easily a head taller than Jed, well build, but sporting a beer belly that could give many a Senator a run for their money. His handshake was firm and dry. "Mr. President."

"Mr. Cregg." They matched each other's neutral tones. Surprisingly – despite the tense conversation he'd walked into –the man gave off a pleasant vibe. "I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances."

"As am I, sir."

His eyes were a shade darker than CJ's and grey temples illustrated the significant age-difference between brother and sister, almost thirteen years if he recalled correctly. "You're leaving?"

Slightly familiar eyes appraised him evenly. "My wife has the nightshift, I usually prepare dinner for her to take along."

Jed exchanged a glance with his wife, careful to keep his expression neutral. Was this for real? "The Doctors have explained the situation?" If CJ took after her mother, Paul, or Pete? He couldn't remember, even though he'd read his file just a few hours ago, obviously did not. There were resemblances, but you had to look closely. "You realize she might not…" the words stuck in his throat.

Paul or Pete nodded. "I'm not a heartless man Mr. President, but I haven't spoken with my sister in over thirty years. To pretend there is some sibling bond – or any bond at all – between us now would be hypocritical and utterly useless." His voice was warm, the look in his eyes genuine and not unkind. It was hard to reconcile that with the cold message just delivered. "Hogan can't stay here."

"She can stay with us."

"Okay," Hogan's dad agreed after a moment or two.

Speechless, he just stared at this strange man. How could he desert his family like this? As a child he hadn't been particularly close to his own family and even now he rarely spoke to, or off, his brother, but to walk away from your own blood in their dying hour…

"What about your father?" Abbey's question pulled him from his silent seething and he waited impatiently for the answer.

Paul –or Pete- sighed and drew his fingers through his hair. This, Jed thought idly, was what Sam's hair'd look like in twenty or thirty years. "He's too sick to fly and for the better too." Without verbal prompting, he explained – never taking his eyes off Abbey, Jed noted. "CJ's a spitting image of my – our – mother. In his condition…we watched her die once," his voice wavered, betraying more emotions than thus far expressed, "that was enough. Anyway," he moved on before they could say anything, "I'm honored to have met you, Mr. President, ma'am. And for what it's worth, I'm glad my sister found a new family."

"Peter." Abbey said when CJ's brother had left.

Confused, he turned to his wife. "What?"

Abbey shook her head, lips pursed. "His name, Jed."

"Oh. I knew that."

"My ass."

Choosing to be the bigger man, he changed subjects. "Any news?"

"It's been almost twenty hours, they should be done soon." She started for the door. "You should probably watch Russell's address.

"How did you--?" Waving his own question away, he reached for his wife's hand. "Never mind. How long's Peter been here?"

"Not that long. Hogan took his car, he came by train after settling some things at work. He's not a bad guy," she added after a beat. "If she really does look—"

Impatiently, he waved the remained of her excuse away. "They're family."

He'd always know he wasn't tall, but under his wife's piercing eyes, he felt himself farther removed from the adjective than ever before. "Yeah."

"Let's go back," he suggested, rather than try to decipher the meaning behind her clipped tone. She didn't bring up the address again and left the TV turned off, choosing to sit next to Hogan. Jed watched Abigail slowly coax the young girl out of her shell, her voice sotto and soothing. She was something else, that wife of his.

He'd barely found a comfortable position, or was forced to rise again when the phone rang. He found it tucked away on a side-table, next to a massive potted plant. The agent near the door indicated the line was secure, but he didn't really care. "Leo, I just got here." Abbey glanced in his direction.

"You'd've looked pretty stupid if it wasn't me."

"Yeah, well, I'm used to that." He sat down in the nearest chair and kept his voice low as not to disturb the girls.

Leo chuckled, then sobered. "Any news?"

"No, Abbey thinks they'll be done soon."

"Okay." This was why he refused to play poker with his old friend most of the time. Leo's voice and words betrayed nothing. Anyone who knew him though, could tell he'd taken CJ's attack as a physical blow. They all had. His government worked because his team worked, and his team worked, because they worked together. "Russell's agreed to make the address."

"Yeah." Hardly a surprise, but still a good thing. Besides taking the heat off him, it would distract the press. So far, Sam had omitted to reveal the location of the shooting, citing Secret Service investigation protocol. No doubt that little ruse wouldn't work for much longer. The NRA-address would at least leave the journalists with less space to fill.

"I'll let you know how it went."

"Yeah. Okay." He really didn't care all that much. "Could you ask housekeeping to prepare two extra bedrooms in the Residence? Zoey and CJ's niece are staying the weekend."

"Okay. Can I talk to Abbey."

"Sure." He eyed the handset suspiciously and motioned his wife over. "Leo wants to talk to you."

She accepted the handset, a small triumphant twist to her lips and took the seat he just vacated.

Dejectedly, he sat back down next to his daughter. "Ever feel like you're a lot less important than you think you are?"

Zoey laughed. "I don't think I'm all that important to begin with, Dad."

Jed eyed her, his little girl alive and vibrant next to him. There'd been moments throughout her life when he feared he'd never see her grow up or smile again. The last and longest during those fifty hours not that long ago. "You're important to me, kid." Though he tried, he failed to keep his voice light.

Zoey's smile faded just a little, her voice a little more serious. "That's all I ask."

He glanced back to his wife while he pulled Zoey in for a hug, finding comfort in the assurance that at least his little girl was all right. Abbey looked away when he met her eyes and dropped her voice further. He knew why Leo wanted to speak with her and why neither of them let him out of their sight. Though he wanted to, he couldn't blame them. The threat of a relapse somehow seemed more real to them than it did to him. Without letting go of his daughter, he reached for the briefcase he'd brought with him. As much as he expected it too, the world didn't stop turning.

Fifty-seven mind-numbing pages and two hours on, Zoey and Hogan were playing cards, Abbey just got off the phone with Liz and Russell's address had raised the expected questions. If they'd been sitting in one of the Residence's living room, it would've been a perfectly normal night and his mind wouldn't keep wandering away from the economic report on his lap, to the family ties of one of his staff members.

The First Lady sat down at his side. "Liz sends her love. Annie's sick, so they're not coming over."

"Okay." There was nothing they could do anyway, except add more bodies to this vigil and that wouldn't help anyone. He took his wife's hands in his. With each minute that passed, the fear in him rose. CJ'd been under for twenty-two hours. "When will we know something?"

The words had barely left his mouth, or the door opened and a blue-clad figure stepped in. Next to him, Abbey swallowed audibly. Her eyes stayed on his, red nails digging into the palm of his hand. She refused to look at the messenger. The girls stilled as well. Hazel eyes glittered like diamond in the faint light of the room and Abbey's breathless whisper tightened the bands of fear around his chest. "Now."


	26. Chapter twenty six: winter 1998

_A/N:_ Guys, I'm so sorry this took so long. It's been a really difficult chapter that just wouldn't listen to me! And, nightshifts have been a pain in the ass, which didn't help. To make it up to you all, this one is the longest yet. It deals with a lot of issues and (some of you will be pleased to hear) there's only one of these 'way back' chapters left - what that means for the present-day storyline, you'll have to wait and see. As always, thank you all for the reviews, I feel so bad for taking this long with the new chapter, all I can say is that without the reviews it probably would've taken even longer. I hate letting people down. And C.C.: belated happy birthday to you too! (and to anyone else who might've gotten another year, uhm, more experienced :) On with the story!

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**Tempus minus** five years, eleven months and eight hours

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The feverish Rachmaninoff composition that reverberated through the heavy, oak door surprised the First Lady. CJ Cregg frequently relied on popular radio stations to provide the soundtrack to her day; a hard to miss fact for anyone who worked within a mile radius, but she highly doubted any of those stations would send the classic _Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini_ out at this hour.

The door opened as soon as she touched it, something the Press Secretary had been complaining about since they settled into these headquarters. With just one month to go, the door wasn't likely to get fixed.

"We're closed," came the cold greeting.

"That kind of day, huh?"

CJ slowly raised her head from her desk. Red, baggy eyes didn't look at all amused. "That kind of month." Visibly regrouping, she forced a smile and remembered the proper protocol. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"

"Nothing, really," Abbey admitted as she carefully shut the door behind her and waded through a sea of discarded memos to get to the little island CJ created for herself. "I hear there's finally an agreement on the new privacy-protocols."

Claudia cocked an eyebrow. "He agreed?"

"I did." Which apparently didn't instill much faith in the younger woman, as evidenced by disappointment in blue eyes.

"I knew that sounded too good to be true."

Shrugging, the First Lady cleared the visitor's chair of wadded paper balls and sat down. "He just needs to realize he can't have his cake and eat it too."

"Which I've been telling him daily."

She didn't take CJ's hostile attitude personally. Not after the briefing the other woman had to give, or after the weeks she spent negotiating the First Family Privacy Protocols with a stubborn, hard-headed President. Still it stung, so she opted for an entirely different approach. "I didn't know you liked Rachmaninoff."

"Who doesn't?" Apparently realizing how brusque she came off, Claudia's expression softened. "It was my mom's favorite," she admitted quietly and smiled. "She made me listen to it for hours, hoping I'd learn how to play it. Whenever I tried," she grimaced, "I butchered it seven ways from Sunday, but that didn't matter to her."

"You play the piano?"

The smile turned sad, then disappeared. "Not anymore."

"How old were you?" To her recollection, CJ had only mentioned her mother once, to say she died. It hadn't been a shocking revelation; she'd read the younger woman's file before they even met. The file, in the interest of privacy, didn't say how or when.

"Eight."

Dear God, "that's young."

"Not as young as some."

"Was it sudden?"

"Isn't it always?" The snappy come-back hung between them for a second, until Claudia offered peace. "We got to say goodbye. I grew up that night."

"And stopped playing the piano. You never regret that?" Out of habit, and simple interest, she studied the emotions flickering across the younger woman's face. She'd known for some time there was a lot of hurt in CJ's past, had seen it in those blue eyes in unguarded moments, but even when drunk and getting by on two hours of sleep a night, CJ never let her guard down enough to speak of her past.

CJ laughed earnestly. "I wasn't any good at it. I just played 'cos it made her smile. I really never got beyond 'chopsticks'."

Considering how far removed Rachmaninoff was from chopsticks, Abbey found that hard to believe. It wasn't the main mystery on her mind however. "How did your mot—"

But before she could finish her question, CJ interrupted and shut down any further conversation about her mom. "You can tell Toby I'm fine, by the way."

It was useless to pursue the topic now, she knew from experience. Feigning innocence, she met the other woman's eyes. "Toby?"

"Short, balding, Jewish guy," CJ clarified sarcastically and unfolded her long body from the chair, stiffness taking away from her usual grace as she crossed her office and shut off the music.

"I don't know who you're talking about," she maintained, though they both knew CJ guessed right. "What are you doing?"

Hand on the doorknob, the tall Press Secretary whispered, "proving my point."

Sure enough, when she opened the door it revealed Toby standing against the opposite wall. "I'm not here," he protested.

"No," Claudia agreed pointedly, "you're not."

"I offered to come," Abbey defended him when the outside world was once again banished from the office.

"He means well," her host allowed when she dropped back in her chair. "He just doesn't know how to talk to me about these things."

"What things?"

The corner of CJ's mouth twisted. "Feminist things."

"Ah." Men often seemed to think that labeling a subject 'feminist' would get them off the hook.

"You seem pretty calm about it," CJ stated, her blue eyes – appearing greenish in the faint light – narrowing.

"About the bombing?"

"Yeah."

"People are egoistical idiots," she spoke tiredly, haunted by too many memories of patients beyond saving. "I figured that out long ago."

"How do you feel about abortion?"

She couldn't figure out if CJ was playing her, or really needed an answer, so she played it safe. "I don't presume I'm smart enough to fully comprehend matters as complicated as abortion." There was a hint of recognition in CJ's expression. Yes, she'd soaked up the younger woman's advice during the campaign.

Of course the Press Secretary couldn't be fooled by her own tactics. "Do you believe a fetus is conscious from conception?"

"God, I don't know Claudia Jean. My medical training says 'no', my heart says ' maybe'."

"Yeah, God, in all his wisdom, might've made that a little clearer."

Sitting in front of the desk like this, it suddenly felt as if there was an entire continent between them. She'd come here to brighten her friend's day, instead, Claudia's mood slid further towards the negative end of the scale. "But if God made everything clear, people wouldn't push themselves to understand life, to explore life's limits."

"It isn't doing us any good. They're bombing Doctors and young women. Here, Abigail. It's far removed when it's Qumar or Iraq, but it happens to our people, your colleagues! How can it not piss you off?!"

Abbey shook her head, almost trying to shake the accusatory words out of her ears. "Of course I'm pissed, but I'm a Doctor, CJ. All the homicides and domestic disturbances you read about in the papers, I've had them bleeding on my table. Those bombers at least had a better reason than the guy who beats his wife to death because she doesn't bring him his beer quickly enough, or than the parents who let their two-year-old starve to death because they're too doped out to remember to feed him!" To this day, she couldn't carry on a conversation with any young man called Eric, without wondering if maybe that little boy would've grown up to be like the man standing before her. People killed people for no reason at all.

"How can you say that?" CJ looked at her incredulously, her voice rising. "You just don't take another person's life, I don't care what your reason might be!"

"That's not my point at all."

Claudia slumped in her chair, the fury that lit up her eyes extinguished by defeat. "I know. I'm sorry."

It didn't take much effort to push her hurt feelings aside. After the past weeks, she could imagine how much today's events rattled her young friend. "It's okay, it wasn't a fun briefing."

"That it wasn't." Unspoken words hung in the air, waiting for either one of them to give them a voice. CJ caved. "I have a feeling there are more briefings like that waiting."

"Let's hope not." The fewer tragedies, the better.

CJ pinched the bridge of her nose and drew a hand through limp curls. "Can't we just agree that blowing each other to pieces isn't an answer to anything?"

"I'd like to think so," Abbey answered lightly. She'd know the younger woman would take the bombing hard, but the desolate frustration written in large, bold letters on her face, surprised her nonetheless.

"So do I, but I've been here for a year and my hope's already fading."

"It helps to take a step back," she advised like she'd advised many of the young Doctors-to-be that crossed her path.

CJ, however, didn't seem to value her advice much. "And teach myself not to care? Why shouldn't I care that a poor kid has to grow up without a father?"

The words stung more than she'd've liked, but at the same time exposed the reason for CJ's volatile reaction to the tragedy. Her husband's staff seemed so young and carefree when she first met them, but once she got beyond their Washington polished surfaces, they were all wounded.

Perhaps that was why they gravitated to her husband – and vice versa. Jed fought his own demons on a daily basis. A Nobel Prize laureate and President of the United States of America and still he didn't feel good enough, haunted by a subtle inferiority complex courtesy of his father. It pained her to see the self-doubt in his eyes, but it also scared her.

In the back of her mind, she knew there was a chance he'd run again and she couldn't let him. He'd end up resenting her for that, she had no doubt. The little boy who fought so hard for his father's recognition would have to run again, to prove once and for all he was worthy. That he'd run all the elections he could and won every time, because millions of people did feel he was good enough. But she would hold him back, knowingly and willingly and if he hated her for that, she'd deal, because he'd live.

Determined not to follow that line of thought, she jumped to the next thing on her mind. "I ran into Hoynes on my way here." If possible, CJ's expression turned even sourer, but no response seemed forthcoming. "That's note-worthy in-and-of itself, but he didn't look as arrogantly uncaring as he usually does." The in-coming VP certainly didn't go out of his way to befriend Jed's staff, or even cooperate with them. As usual, CJ took the brunt of the repercussions. "Toby says you yelled at him."

The Press Secretary's lips thinned. "Someone needed to kick his ass. Did you hear what he said? 'I disagree with the measures, but sympathize with the sentiment'. Apart from the three-week headache he just dunked me into, where the hell did he come up with that?! 'Sympathize with the sentiment' my ass!"

"A lot of people feel that way," Abbey tried weakly, defending herself against the barely controlled fury in CJ's voice. She'd never been good at damage control, they had CJ for that.

"Well, can we agree they're all idiots?"

When she didn't respond, Claudia slowly leaned back in her chair. "Abbey, where do you stand?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "it isn't an easy issue."

"You better figure it out. We've managed to avoid any major debates on the issue during the campaign, but between the bombing and Hoynes' comments…" she didn't finish her sentence and didn't have to.

"I thought Jed would make an address."

"Denouncing the bombing, yes, but now we can't avoid the debate."

"Jed knows where he stands."

CJ smiled, sort of. It wasn't genuine and definitely not friendly. "You're the First Lady, a Doctor _and_ a mother. Trust me; your datebook will be full for the next few weeks."

Shit. She hadn't considered that. CJ's expression softened. "I wasn't mad just because I'm a raging feminist, Abbey. Hoynes just set our agenda, probably right up to the inauguration, on an issue that no one can win."

"Wonderful."

"Welcome to Washington, Mrs. Bartlet."

If only this damned city would stop welcoming her. Abortion was one of the few issues she preferred not to think about too much. It felt impossible to reconcile the Doctor's point of view with the mother's. During her OBGYN rotation way back when, the abortion debate just picked up steam. The question, according to her mentor, no longer was 'if you could go back in time and kill Hitler, would you?', but 'if you could convince Hitler's mother to abort him, would you?' Even now she couldn't really answer the question, except to say that she'd rather kill the man, than abort the baby. So, she pulled a trick CJ often exploited and shifted focus. "What do you think?"

It was easy to think she fooled her host, though it was more likely CJ allowed the distraction. "I think everyone should have the option, until the third trimester." The answer –or statement –sounded so matter-of-factly, she could hardly believe it.

"Really?"

Claudia tapped her fingers on the desk. Short, polished nails ticked rhythmically against the dark wood. "It's not a black and white issue, Abbey, you know that. I just think everyone should be free to do with their bodies as they please, as long as they don't hurt anyone else. Anyone who sees abortion as a convenient form of birth control get's a single ticket to Idiot-land, but the government shouldn't mess with people's freedom."

"Setting apart the issue of whether or not abortion hurts a baby, there are a lot of things we tell people they can't do."

"Yeah. Like drunk driving. If you down a bottle of vodka and want to smash your car into a tree, be my guest, but there's no guarantee you won't take some unsuspecting soul strolling down the sidewalk with you."

That struck the First Lady as naïve. "Even if there were guarantees," and there weren't any, "what about the firemen who have to free the driver, or the Doctors who have to try to save him?"

"Exactly, so no drunk driving. No jumping in front of a train or slitting your wrists."

Straight-forward, certainly, but a little too simplefor her taste. She couldn't deny a cerain amoutn of curiosity, however. "Drugs?"

"Sure, but you can't participate in traffic, go to work or be around children while high."

"Guns?"

"Nope." Painted lips twisted in distaste. "See, most people don't aim their gun at themselves."

Enough was enough, she could appreciate the other woman's point of view, but you couldn't write the bad things off to outside influences. Some people deliberately hurt others, but not all. "People hurt each other by accident too, Claudia Jean, most of the time, in fact. And they're often perfectly rational and sober, too."

"Of course we can't eliminate all risks, but we can at least minimize the obvious ones."

"So what if people ignore restrictions? How do you feel about the death penalty? That's murder too."

"It is," CJ agreed easily, obviously energized by their discussion. Unfortunately, it wasn't the kind of energy she'd been shooting for. "But it's not arbitrary – or at least it shouldn't be. There's no personal gain involved, and in theory, no subjective interpretation of the truth either."

"So you're in favor of it?" The stocking on her left leg slid slowly down her skin and she tried pulling it back up without distracting from the topic. They'd had similar conversations before, but the bombing had clearly heightened CJ's emotions. She felt different too, as if being the First Lady of a country, instead of a state, somehow changed the way she looked at these things and she felt obliged to temper Claudia's resoluteness.

The desk wobbled a little when CJ shifted position. The computer screen sprang back to life and cast a harsh glow on tired features. "Not really, but I'm not against it either."

That was unusual, most people picked definite sides and it contrasted oddly with the Press Secretary's earlier views. "And abortion? Why are you in favor of something that deliberately hurts another being?"

"Let's be clear, I'm not in favor of abortion. I think every woman should have the option. I'm not particularly rooting for one outcome or the other."

Chastised – perhaps rightfully so, she couldn't think of anything else to say. CJ's matter-of-fact attitude took all the heat out of the discussion.

"You were pretty young when you had Elizabeth," CJ pointed out, mystifying the First Lady, "and still in medical school. Did you consider abortion?"

"Not really, abortion was still mostly illegal." Thinking back only made her feel old. They'd been so young then, not really concerned with anything that was more than a year or two away.

"But if it hadn't been, wouldn't you have considered terminating your pregnancy?"

Taken aback by the question, she searched the other woman's eyes. As distanced as Liz kept herself from her father's politics, she would actually, voluntarily socialize with CJ, probably because the two were close in age. "No, of course not. Jed and I made a mistake; she shouldn't have to pay for that." Halfway through the sentence, the atmosphere in the dark office suddenly shifted.

Claudia narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, her back straight. "You're saying Liz was a mistake?"

That crossed the line and she didn't hesitate to show her displeasure. "Don't put words in my mouth Claudia Jean."

"Then don't give me the option."

To suggest any of her children were a mistake… she couldn't even form a rational rebuttal. "You set me up!"

"Any reporter's going to try to."

"I won't talk to any." She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them when she realized how petulant she must look.

Calm now, CJ eyed her evenly. Talk about burning hot and cold. "I'm going to set up a few interviews for you."

"That's a sure way to get the press on my ass." Any interview that wasn't absolutely – he'll-be-impeached-if-you-don't – necessary, she was quite happy to forego.

"They'll be on your ass regardless, Abigail. After Oprah and Nicole Kidman, you're the most visible woman in the country."

"So make them do the interviews." She paused, remembering a conversation she overheard between Toby and Leo. "People like Oprah better anyway."

No compassion was forthcoming – CJ just snickered. "Don't worry, I'll free up a few hours to prep you in the morning."

"I'm supposed to pick a CoS tomorrow," Abbey complained. Not that she looked forward to that particular task, but anything beat going ten rounds with the press corps.

"That can wait."

"Why _did_ you pass?"

"I wouldn't be any good at it."

"CJ…" She didn't blame the other woman, but still wanted answer, even if it would probably confirm what she already suspected.

"All due respect, the real stuff happens in the West Wing."

She appreciated the gentleness in Claudia's voice. "Yeah… I figured." She sounded more jaded than she felt. After all, they hadn't gotten to the governing part yet, so it was hard to tell how influential her East Wing would, or wouldn't be. Whatever it turned out to be, her influence existed by the grace of being married to the big boss, not because of any credentials or votes she earned.

"Lily May is good," CJ offered to keep the peace. "You'll like her."

She'd seen the résumé cross her desk and the woman certainly had enough credentials. "She headed the East-coast campaign team, didn't she?"

"Yeah. She had some help, but we think she's ready to go solo."

"And she'll be happy to cooperate with you guys. No offense, but I'd rather set my own agenda."

CJ shook her head."Lily sets her own sails, she isn't likely to play nice just because she knows us."

Something about that description didn't sit well with the First Lady. A Chief of Staff who wouldn't let Jed's boys bully her around was definitely important, but why would Leo deliberately suggest someone who'd make his life harder? And why did CJ seem so happy about it? From what she understood, synchronizing the West and East agenda's was part of the Press Secretary's job.

Abbey considered asking the other woman about it, but that wasn't likely to get her a real answer. As much as she enjoyed CJ's company, the younger woman was deceptively manipulative. No, she'd been around these people long enough to figure this one out on her own.

The sharp ring of a telephone shattered the quiet so unexpectedly, both women jumped in their seats. Claudia Jean hurriedly fished the offending piece of technology from underneath a pile of paper and after a quick glance at the display, accepted the call – though she sounded none too happy about it. "Danny." Irritation flickered in her eyes while she listened to the reporter's rambling. All Abbey could hear was that there really was someone else on the other side of the line. "We've been over this, Danny. You have to wait, just like all the other hounds."

Another pause, which Abbey used to pull that damn stocking back up. Somehow, it was always the left one that caused problems, what was up with that? Keeping one eye on CJ, she could see the other woman's frustration growing with each passing second.

"They're just dotting the i's and crossing the t's. You'll get a copy when the others do. Bye Danny!" She slammed the phone on the desk and took a deep breath before meeting Abbey's eyes.

The First Lady smirked. "I think he fancies you."

"He fancies the access I can give him."

The answer came a little too quickly to convince her, but she could understand CJ's caution. If it seemed they played favors with one reporter, it wouldn't be long before the White Ho... "You want Lily because it won't look like you're setting the East Wing's agenda."

"Yeah." Again, too easy, she could tell by the slight twitch of CJ's mouth.

She had to look further… "and because it won't look like I'm _influencing_ your agenda."

The twitching stopped. Bingo. "Yep."

God, she'd expected something like this, but literally every little aspect of this Administration was thought and planned out. As a Doctor she was used to scrutiny, but now she felt more like a lab rat, always observed and tested. The claustrophobic feeling send chills down her spine.

CJ apparently sensed her apprehension. "She really is good, Abbey. You can make a difference."

But she wasn't ready to move on yet. "Is that why you refused; to prevent a conflict of interests?"

"No, I refused because I want to work for the President."

"And I'm just baggage."

"Vital baggage," Claudia corrected. "If it wasn't for you, Toby and Josh would've overdosed on junkfood months ago."

"Here lies Abigail Ann Bartlet, First Lady and crusader against junkfood."

"You could do worse."

She snorted rather un-First Lady like at the joke. "Betty Ford, Lucy Hayes, Ellen Wilson, Eleanor Roosevelt; they made a real difference."

"And so will you. You don't need me, or anyone else for that Abigail. You saved lives before the campaign, there's no reason to stop now."

Not convinced, but willing to believe in the possibilities CJ painted, she nodded. All anyone could do was try. The inauguration was sneaking up on them fast, she couldn't keep feeling this powerless. "You really think Lily'd be good?"

A knock on the door interrupted whatever answer was forthcoming and before either of them could say anything, the door slowly swung open. CJ's assistant, Carol, hesitantly poked her head through the opening. "Sorry, the door…"

Claudia waved the excuse off. "What is it?"

Carol opened the door further, exposing Sam angrily waving around a handful of paper. "You're a comma-Nazi, Toby Ziegler!"

"You write like a six-year-old princess!" Toby's disembodied voice shot back. "If you want a pony, ask Santa, but keep your misguided, girlish naivety out of my inauguration!"

"_Your_ inauguration?!"

"Okay," CJ sighed, "I get it, I'll be right out."

Carol nodded, obviously relieved and shut the door. Despite her gloomy mood, Abbey couldn't help but laugh. "Maybe it is best if you stay in the West Wing," she admitted with a grin.

Claudia Jean shook her head, more weary than amused and got up from her chair. "It's just… they need a woman you know, to pull their heads out of their asses once in a while."

"I can't think of anyone better suited for the job." Their eyes met and the frustration that had underlined the meeting finally faded. This was the friendship that would keep her sane, Abigail decided. CJ briefly touched her shoulder on her way out into the battlefield .

The shouting match rolled back into the office, but died as soon as the Press Secretary opened her mouth and roared; "Toby Ziegler, stop picking on the other kids or I'll send you to bed without supper!"

Laughter died in Abbey's throat as soon as her eye fell on the clock. It was almost time for Jed's injection. In the hall she paused for a few moments to watch CJ talk to Sam and Toby, looking very much like a frustrated mother. They really did need CJ and she knew Jed really needed her at his side. That really was all the motivation she needed. With a little help from Leo, they'd keep the kids in line.


	27. Chapter twenty seven

_A/N:_ Another chapter that took longer than intended, I wish I wasn't quite so busy. At least the average length has gone up as well, so hopefully y'all consider it a fair trade ;) This chapter is a bit heavy on medical terms, hopefully that doesn't distract too much from the actual events. It's become a bit cliche, but I'll just keep thanking everyone for reading and especially for reviewing, because well, I'm grateful ;) Plus I try to improve my writingskills and storytelling/characterization which each chapter and I need your help with that. I'll apologize in advance for any mistakes, it's almost 4 a.m. so my proofreading skills are a bit dodgy, but I really wanted to get this out tonight.  
Anyway, enough rambling, time to discover what happens to dear Claudia Jean...

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**Tempus plus** twenty-one hours and forty minutes

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More than an hour later, Abigail watched her husband while he flipped restlessly through another forty-page briefing on something or other. His chest rose and fell evenly and he didn't appear to have any problems focusing, even with Zoey in the room. The nurse had brought good news; the surgery was over. Now the Doctors were just finishing up – which sounded innocent enough, but could easily take two more hours. Carefully they'd stitch the wounds, disinfect the sutures, take new blood samples, count and recount the surgical tools and take new x-rays or MRI's to make sure they hadn't missed anything.

In the mean time, the initial relief felt by family and friends would slowly fade back into concern. She had enough experience to know that while surviving the grueling surgery was a massive success, Claudia wasn't out of the woods by a long shot. It could take hours for the anesthesia to wear off and then there were all the regular post-op risks.

She toyed with her wedding ring a moment longer and surveyed the room anew. Hogan sat quietly a few chairs down from Jed. Zoey had left her father's side and let her mom hold on tightly to her hand. Abbey wasn't sure whom it offered the most comfort. Sighing, Jed uncrossed his legs and pushed his glasses back up his nose. She watched his hands, looking for any tremors signaling fatigue, or worse. When she caught her daughter's concerned gaze, she smiled guiltily. The kid was far too sagacious for anyone's good.

Fatigue was beginning to show on the girls' faces, as well as Jed's. Leo'd called a couple of times to ask if there was news and to relay the results of Russell's address. For the first time in years, she wished for some kind of urgent problem that required her husband back at the White House. These chairs were far from comfortable and being here, in this waiting room, wouldn't help his stress levels. It was nothing short of miraculous that he'd gotten through Zoey's kidnapping without a relapse, she didn't want to risk one now.

At least the news that the hardest part was over, lightened the tension in the sterile waiting room considerably. Zoey moved away from her parents to occupy Hogan with more card games and Jed could now tackle ten consecutive pages before pausing to stare at the clock.

Abbey was left alone with her thoughts and the part she'd played in last night's events. If she hadn't shot her mouth off in that stupid interview, Claudia would've gone home early like the rest of the staff. The shooter might've come back another time – or place – but maybe by then CJ would've alerted the Secret Service. They would keep her safe. Pointless thoughts, all of them, but she couldn't turn off the maelstrom of guilt and alternate scenarios in her head.

CJ'd been her support system after Zoey's kidnapping, even after she'd lashed out at the Press Secretary. Pouring all her anger and fear in that one fight, because she couldn't fight her husband and Leo just accepted her anger. She never apologized, not really, for all the horrible things she said.

She'd apologized to Leo, but not to Claudia, just like she never apologized for the cider-incident years ago. All of which it was useless to feel sorry for now, but still both fights weighed heavily on her mind.

What really stung now, was an off-the-cuff remark Claudia Jean made on her birthday a year ago. Yes, she tried to differentiate between being the First Lady – CJ's boss, and Abbey – Claudia's friend. The dangling-modifier comment suggested she wasn't very successful. Then again, CJ didn't seem terribly upset about it.

Jed managed it so fluently; to slip from President to doting father, to uncle Fluffy, except that he often forgot to stop by loving husband on the way. Now that she no longer gave him his betaseron injections, the one guaranteed Jed and Abbey moment had slipped through her fingers.

She still made it a point to be there when the Doctor gave him his shots – or had, before Zoey's kidnapping – but more and more she felt like an outsider to that part of his life, she even felt like an outsider to their marriage.

This time in the hospital was the longest they'd spent together in recent memory without fighting. It wasn't Jed's fault, not all of it, but she found it easy to blame him. With every bad thing that happened, she wondered how different things would be if he hadn't run again. Zoey would never have been kidnapped, CJ wouldn't be fighting for her life, she would've had her license back.

Ten years from now, when he could no longer walk and her fingers were too stiff for surgery, she hoped fervently she'd be able to say it had all been worth it. Right now, she doubted it.

"Doctor."

At first she thought Jed addressed her. It was his way of letting her know he didn't consider her any less a Doctor because she gave up her license. It stung each time, but he meant well. When she looked up, she realized they had a new guest, and a familiar one at that. "Doctor Simons."

The young – well, young to her – physician smiled warmly in her direction. "Doctor Bartlet, Mr. President." God, he hadn't changed a bit. The same lock of strawberry blond hair that always fell over his eyes during his surgical rotation many years ago, now rested on his glasses. There were more lines in his face and his temples turned grey. He was one of the best residents she'd ever worked with, hopefully that bode well for Claudia Jean. Jed glanced at her sideways. "You'll have to forgive me," Mike Simons continued, clearly a little thrown, "I was a little surprised to hear I'd be briefing the President in person."

Jed tugged on his tie. "Yeah. Well, the President would like to know the condition of his Press Secretary."

"She's in recovery," the Doctor motioned for them to sit and waited until Zoey and Hogan moved closer before continuing. "Surgery went as well as we could expect, but she's not out of the woods yet."

"But she'll be okay, right?" Hogan shrank back in her seat when everyone turned to look at her. On instinct, Abbey reached for the teenager's hand and squeezed.

"If it's up to us, she'll be back on her feet in no time," Mike assured. Hogan calmed, but Abbey only grew more nervous. Many things weren't up to the Doctors. "We repaired the damage done to her neck and chest and grafted a vein from her left forearm to replace the damaged artery in her thigh. She'll need another surgery, maybe two, to fix her leg."

She couldn't wait for the others to process that information. "Her heart?"

The Doctor smiled sympathetically. They called this the burden of knowledge. Her family was blessed by ignorance – though she'd never say so to Jed's face – they didn't worry about the things she did, didn't even know all the things they _could_ worry about. "There seems to be no lasting damage. One of you can go in and see her in a little while." Her former student sort of ducked his head in Jed's direction; the arrogance that nearly cost him his career, obviously worn out by experience. Though the half-bow was a little much.

Mike held her eyes when he backed out of the room and the message spelled in them send chills down her spine. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her fears aside and turned to Hogan. "You should go see her, Hogan."

But the girl shook her head and backed away. "N-no. You should go, you're a Doctor right? You can help her."

"She's just sleeping," Abbey assured. She recognized the panicked look in Hogan's blue eyes. It was scary to see someone close to you look so vulnerable and sick.

But Hogan held her ground. "You go."

"Are you sure?"

In a dead-on impression of her aunt, the young girl chewed the inside of her cheek and nodded timidly. "Yeah."

"Okay." Without thinking, she enveloped Hogan in a brief hug.

"Abbey." She turned to her husband and envied the relief she saw in his eyes. "I need to go back."

To his credit, he really sounded upset about it. "You should take the girls with you."

"Mom!"

She waved Zoey's protest away. "You can come back first thing in the morning." Her daughter's cheek was warm against her hand, the skin on her forehead clammy where she kissed it. "There's nothing you can do here. Go get some sleep and come back tomorrow, CJ should be awake then and I'm sure she'd like the company." Those blue eyes that looked so much like Jed's flickered with concern and Abbey could tell it wasn't just concern over CJ. God, she loved her kid."I'll be fine, munchkin."

Though her promise failed to chase the worry out of her daughter's eyes, it at least convinced Zoey she'd be okay. The First Daughter took Hogan's hand and discreetly led her out of the room. Alone with Jed, Abbey dared to let some of her fears shine through her Doctor's mask.

"She made it through surgery."

She loved him for trying to emphasize the good, but she couldn't relax until CJ was awake and talking. "Yeah."

That one syllable brought doubt to his eyes as well. Stronger than she, he fought it. He pulled her close and pressed his dry lips against her forehead. "Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat."

Abbey struggled to translate, her Latin not as fluent and her mind occupied by other matters. The way he said the words –like a prayer- enough to raise her interest. "Always hurt, until…"

His fingers threaded through hers. "The Romans inscribed it in their sundials; 'all hours wound, the last kills'."

"Jesus Jed, that's grim. This isn't her last hour!" The words rushed out of her, her stomach churning.

He let her go when she pulled away in disgust, confusion written all over his face. "You don't have to fear the hours that wound, that's the point." His voice lacked volume, but she heard him clearly. "Injuries heal, Abbey."

She couldn't look at him, even though she recognized the validity of his interpretation. She couldn't face those familiar blue eyes she knew through and through because now there was only one question on her mind. What if this _was_ Claudia's last hour? That was the idea behind the phrase, wasn't it? Every hour wounds, but you don't need to fear those because it's only the last that kills. A comforting thought, were it not that you couldn't know which hour would be the final one.

"I'll tell the guys the good news," Jed broke through the silence, oblivious to the nature of her thoughts. He kissed her quickly and started to move away.

Sudden panic compelled her to follow him. "Jed." He turned back, his expression concerned in reaction to the uncharacteristic qualities she heard in her own voice. Abbey amended the words of caution stuck in her throat. She had nothing to gain by burdening her husband with her concerns. "Get some sleep."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

For a moment she was sorely tempted to go with him and leave the stress of medical reports and too much knowledge for tomorrow. Claudia Jean needed her, and she needed to stay to repent for the damage she'd done, so she watched her husband become the President and followed Doctor Simons instead.

He looked up when she approached, his face smooth and neutral, but there was a familiar dread in his eyes."How is she?"

"The gash in her neck will heal just fine," Mike promised as they walked, her agents in tow. "We cauterized the damaged vein."

"Why didn't you opt for a ligature?" She may not have been on active duty for a long time, but she was still well aware of standard procedures and normally the course of action was to tie off the vein, rather than burn it.

"She was losing too much blood and because the injury is located at the base of her skull, we didn't want to risk the suture letting loose," he paused to open a door, "and possibly migrating into her spinal column." Reasonable, but she still cringed with sympathy. At least CJ wouldn't have felt it. "There'll be a scar, but once her hair grows back it'll be as good as invisible."As if she cared about scars right now.

They crossed into a different corridor, this one without art on the walls or potted plants tucked away in corners. Two nurses behind their station fell silent as she passed; she felt their eyes on her back.

Mike continued unfazed. "The bullet that hit her chest fractured the sixth rib before puncturing the upper right lung and just missed the pulmonary artery. The alveoli collapsed. We stitched the lung back up and re-inflated it." He smiled reassuringly in her direction, but the smile was too familiar. Too much Doctor and not enough real faith; she'd worn it often herself. "We'll take her off the ventilator as soon as—" he caught himself and paused mid-step. "Well, I don't need to tell you. Thoracic surgery is your field."

Abbey shrugged. He was right, she didn't need him to spell out the risks and speak of muscle strength, embolisms, leaks and pneumonia. There were so many things that could still go wrong and they hadn't even gotten to the most damaging injury. "Her leg?"

"Ah," they moved again and by the increase in staff members, she could tell they were close to the recovery rooms. "We performed a femoral popliteal bypass. The bullet destroyed a full inch of the femoral artery, but missed the femur. She lost a lot of blood and the circulation in her leg has been severely compromised." There were the cautious tones she'd been dreading. "Best-case scenario she'll need a few months of pain treatment and rehabilitation."

She didn't dare to ask what the worst-case scenario entailed, though she could guess. If the circulation didn't restore itself… "Why did you graft a vein from her arm, rather than her left, healthy leg?"

The Doctor's face clouded over. "Ms. Cregg's physical condition could've been better. Combined with the blood loss and overall trauma, we didn't want to risk damaging the circulation in her other leg."

She finished his sentence for him. "Because the procedure might not take."

"If it doesn't, we have other options."

They came to a stop and Abbey worked to control her thoughts. "Her physical condition." She made it a half-question, unable to admit she hadn't seen CJ was in trouble.

"High blood pressure, a weakened immune system, iron and calcium deficiency, dehydration, there's some evidence of frequent headaches and general malnutrition and insomnia."

"None of which will help the healing process."

He wisely chose not to respond. "We've put her in a private room, the Secret Service contact insisted. She'll be out for quite a while."

Abbey glanced at the doors. "Her heart?"

"We skipped most of the cosmetic aspects of each procedure to minimize stress. The blood loss will cause additional strain on the aorta and myocardium. We've put her on Alpha and Beta blockers, broad-spectrum antibiotics, mineral supplements and a cocktail of painkillers and muscle-relaxants. We'll keep her on the ventilator for a few more hours while the muscle-relaxants wear off." He reached for the door handle, the resulting click loud in an already chaotic world. She saw the surprise in Mike's eyes when her agents physically held her back and disappeared into the room, only to emerge seconds later.

Given the all clear, Abbey hesitantly stepped into the darkened room and was only barely aware of the door closing behind her. Thick wood shut out the noise coming from the corridor and provided a recluse filled with beeps and pings. She couldn't help but feel disconnected from her surroundings while her eyes shot from one monitor to the next, unconsciously avoiding the person lying beneath the many tubes and pristine, white sheets.

She still knew the purpose of each beep, line and hiss, her mind spewing out facts relating to the various values depicted on the monitors. The rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor and low hisses of the ventilator like a song you never grew tired off and yet it all felt far away. It hadn't when she'd rushed to Jed's side after the Rosslyn attack, but now it'd been almost eight years since she'd completed a full shift. She just didn't feel like a Doctor, but she wasn't family either.

Finally, she worked up the courage to look at the patient. CJ's pale skin leapt out at her, ghostly white and even her hair seemed lighter than usual. Her eyes were closed, and her lips thin and pale. She looked like death warmed over and that was probably closer to the truth than Abbey was ready to admit.

Carefully she ran her fingers across CJ's healthy hand where the IV needle penetrated soft skin. Numb, she sat down in the carefully positioned chair next to the bed, unable to tear her eyes off the tubes running into Claudia's nose and mouth.

"God, CJ."

Her whisper hung in the fragile air and drowned in the mechanical sounds around them. She expected this, knew, rationally, that this would be the reality. Yet somehow, in the back of her mind, she'd expected to walk into this room and find CJ awake and making jokes and suddenly she was glad Hogan had opted to wait. No kid should have to see someone they loved in this state, kept alive by machines and miracles.

Her hand trembled when she reached for Claudia's face and brushed strands of matted hair back, the tips of her fingers just grazing the bandages around her neck. She jerked away as if burned and in that instant, the last twenty-four hours caught up with her. The way she'd found CJ, the rush to the hospital and the horrible realization that they might lose her. Until now she busied herself with medical facts and the people she loved, who needed her to be calm and rational. But here, in this small, stuffy room filled with unnatural sounds and artificial breathing, she stared at Claudia Jean, her friend and truly realized how close they'd come to losing her.

She fought against the tears, but lost the battle when the first sob escaped. Since that night after Zoey's interview, she hadn't cried again, but with only a dear and valued friend as an unwitting witness, she couldn't keep up the façade any longer and broke down.


	28. Chapter twenty eight: Inauguration Day 1

_A/N:_ **Surprise!** It's been over three months since I've updated this story and I'm so sorry. I was doing so well on the frequent updates (well, considering my track record at least) but then life went ahead and made things incredibly difficult and busy. I haven't stopped writing however, this chapter just happens to be difficult and long (just over 8.500 words, not counting this note). I can't promise when the next update'll be, but there'll be one.

Thanks to everyone who kept reviewing and those who sent supportive messages – your effort was not in vain, without you this chapter might never have been finished, but it is and a lot happens in it, so scroll down and enjoy! Please take the time to review, I'm interested in what you think of this story after so long and if this update is a worthy continuation ;)

Also: too everyone a happy, healthy, funky, funny, creative and successful 2010!

.

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**Tempus minus** four years, ten months and six days

.

With most of everyone's belongings packed into boxes, the whole floor seemed different. There was still plenty of crap lying around, most of it Toby's and CJ knew Josh's would be too, were it not for always-organized Donna. Not that she gave a damn either way. Her stuff was packed, ready to go and never return. Bye crappy door, bye wobbly desk and if she ever heard Toby bounce balls off the wall of her office again, it'd be way, way too soon.

Sam had spent time he didn't have on a goodbye tour of their headquarters. Personally, CJ couldn't wait to move into the White House. It felt like a fresh start, a chance to forget the hellish weeks and crazy inaugural schedule leading up to today's inauguration.

Just two more hours before the mass exodus to Capitol Hill for the final preparations. Of course, first Toby and Sam had to finish the actual address. She knew Toby's last minute work was good, but this was pushing it.

For her own peace of mind, the press had been denied access to the building. Like hyenas smelling blood, they were eager to get their grubby little hands on the missing pieces of Toby's work. Absent that, any juicy, little tidbit would do and there were too many of those to risk even parking the press in the lobby. The unfortunate consequence was the constant ringing of her phone on a day she couldn't afford to switch it off.

Carol carefully stepped inside the office and held out an innocent looking file. "The results are in," she clarified needlessly.

Doing her best not to show the anxiety she suddenly felt, CJ ignored her phone for the moment, glanced through the numbers and sighed. "Get a copy to Leo, but keep it away from Sam, Toby and the President."

"That bad?" Bless Carol for actually being surprised, CJ thought. Carol turned to leave, but not before informing the almost-Press Secretary of an unwelcome visitor. "Lily Mays called, Mrs. Bartlet is on her way over."

Her expression carefully neutral, CJ nodded and swallowed a sigh. "Let her in when she gets here." She liked the older woman and considered her a friend – perhaps the only friend she had in Washington who wasn't also her colleague for eighteen hours a day – but she just didn't have the time to hold Mrs. Bartlet's hand right now, while Abbey tried to figure out how she fit in her husband's new career. She'd pushed her to hire a Chief of Staff for a reason. Although, really, the Governor's wife wasn't half the basket-case she could've been, considering the circumstances.

At least Abigail left her just enough time to finish a few calls to network directors before showing up, but that hardly put a dent in CJ's list of things to do before the inauguration.

"Claudia Jean."

"Mrs. Bartlet." She resisted the urge to comment on the First Lady's attire. Abigail always dressed immaculately and the current combination of faded jeans and a Notre Dame sweatshirt didn't quite fit with her image, least of all on the first day of their administration. "How's Lily Mays working out?"

"Oh, just fine. We're still getting used to each other."

CJ purposely ignored the faint accusation in the woman's words and watched her settle down on the visitor's chair. "Did you settle on an outfit yet?"

"What? You don't think this would be fine?"

"You're kidding right?" The question left her mouth before her brain had a chance to catch up.

Abbey smirked. "It's patriotic and homely. Don't you think it'll portray me more as a housewife than a professional?"

Crap. "You saw the poll results."

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't poll on me anymore."

"We agreed I wouldn't bother you with the results anymore," CJ corrected.

"What's the point of polling then?"

CJ struggled not to smile in victory. "To bother Lily Mays."

Mrs. Bartlet's expression froze for a long second, as if she couldn't decide whether or not to be pissed. And though she certainly was annoyed, judging by the pursed, burgundy-colored lips, she apparently decided to conserve her energy and smile instead. "As long as she doesn't bother me."

It could be her only victory this day, so CJ reached for it with both hands, ostensibly regretful. "I can't promise that, ma'am." Mrs. Bartlet's eyes narrowed. "How did you get a hold of the results anyway?"

"I don't think you deserve an answer to that, Ms. Cregg."

"Fair enough." The answer hardly mattered anyway, but Abbey didn't know that.

The older woman's stern expression softened, then took on a Cheshire cat quality that put the Press Secretary on edge. "How is your ankle, Claudia Jean? Any new accidents?" Blushing, CJ shook her head. She really just wanted to forget that whole incident. Abigail grinned and motioned for the younger woman to lift up her leg. "Let me have a look."

"Really, it's fine," she protested, "just a little sore when I first get up."

But of course Doctor Bartlet wasn't having it and soon CJ had her left foot propped up on the desk, sans shoe. "You'll be on your feet a lot today, just let me check." Having no other choice but to give in, CJ leant back in her chair and watched the bandage she so painstakingly redid after her four a.m. shower quickly come undone. Abbey chuckled, "didn't you ever take first aid classes in school?"

She didn't answer and flinched when the First Lady started to test the swollen area around the joint. It didn't hurt as much as it had a few days ago, but pleasant it was not.

"It's almost better," the Doctor declared, "just resist falling off any stages for a while."

"I found my glasses, but thank you." CJ kept very still while Abbey redid the bandage, winching at the tightness around her sensitive ankle.

"So you're sticking to that story, hmm?" The mischievous tone in Abbey's voice raised red flags.

"I'm blind as a bat without my glasses, Toby'll vouch for that."

"Really? It had nothing to do with a certain red-haired reporter?"

"Really." She could tell her visitor didn't buy it, but it was the truth. The last thing on her mind right now was a relationship of any kind, with anyone. The jokes were getting old and unfortunately Mrs. Bartlet seemed to have made it her mission to hook CJ up.

"I'm not buying it, Claudia Jean." CJ grinned, mostly to herself for predicting the other woman's response. Abbey opened her mouth to add to her statement, or possibly scold the Press Secretary for not taking her boss' wife seriously.

CJ'd never know – or care, really – because Josh suddenly barged into the office. The wild look in his brown eyes spelled bad news and she felt her heart rate go up. "Did you see these?!"

Forcing calm, she slowly put her foot back on the ground and looked up at him. "See what?"

"These!" He tapped angrily on the folder in his hand.

"I left my spyglasses in the Batcave this morning, Josh."

His eyes spelled murder and she could almost see his muscles vibrating from the tension he exuded. "The poll results, CJ! The _crappy_ poll results!"

"Oh, those."

"Have you seen them?! Twenty-one percent thinks he'll—"

"Forget the results Josh," she cut him off. Panic wouldn't get them anywhere and the results really did not matter. He sputtered. "It's just a poll Josh, we won the election with forty-eight percent."

"Exactly! So why is only twenty-one percent saying he'll be a good president?!" He shook the folder vigorously and loomed over CJ. "I'll tell you why, Claudia Jean; because this is a _crappy_ poll!"

"God Joshua, relax will you!" She rose from her chair and rounded her desk, slowly advanced on him while venting her frustration. "We got elected, we're moving to the White House and if you pull your head from your ass and start _working_, maybe we'll actually make it through today!"

Meekly he glanced up from the floor, the file still in his hand. "But the poll—"

"Forget the damn poll!" Seeing the shock in his face, and noticing a similar expression on the First Lady, CJ dropped her voice and ducked her head. "Look, we'll do better, so just keep these results from the others, okay?" He nodded, now calm and a little sad, but the look in his eyes worried her. "Josh, I don't want Toby to see the results, okay?"

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." She watched him weasel his way to the door, his eyes still on hers, as if he kept an eye on her in case she suddenly decided to pounce on him. That look in his eyes was still there and when he lingered in the door opening, she knew something was wrong. "Josh?"

He smiled one of his charming, self-decapitating smiles, showing off his dimples. But CJ had worked hard on her immunity to that grin and braced herself. "You mean you don't want him to see the actual numbers, right?"

"Josh," her voice rose a pitch, but she quickly brought it back under control, "are we having a problem?"

"No, no, not at all," he was quick to assure her. Somehow, she didn't feel very assured. "Except that," he glanced into the hallway, figuring out his escape route if he had any sense left. Every muscle in her body was wound tight. "I dropped a copy by Toby before coming here." CJ struggled to react to his rushed words. This shouldn't really come as a surprise. Josh slowly inched his way into the hall. "I'll just, uhm, go stop… Donna?"

"Why? What is Donna doing?" Her voice sounded remarkably calm to her own ears, especially considering the many scenarios of killing Joshua Lyman that were running as an illegal snuff film her head.

Josh ducked his head, his eyes wide. "She's…, uhm, bringing a copy to the President."

Tongue-tied because she couldn't decide how to start her rant – there were so many great kick-offs –she watched him dash away. However she would kill him – it'd be slow. Very, very slow. And it would involve some kind of electronic instrument.

Of course, as often happens in life, another disaster closely followed the first. Before CJ had a chance to calm herself and set up a plan of action, Toby Ziegler burst through the door opening, his jaw set. "These people do realize we already _won_ the election, don't they?! Forty-eight percent of them _voted_ for us!"

CJ pinched the bridge of her nose to try and ward off the headache that announced itself between the lines of Toby's tirade. When he finally paused to take a breath, she took the opportunity to hijack his rant. "We haven't done anything yet, Toby. Between the Philippines-fiasco, the recent abortion mess and Josh's blow-out with Hoynes, it's hardly a surprise people aren't all that confident. Our numbers were never good to begin with."

The Communications Director licked his lips, visibly struggling to give voice to his thoughts. CJ knew him well enough to brace for the inevitable outburst, but the look of betrayal in his eyes caught her off guard. "That's your answer?! 'Our numbers were never great, so why be upset when they _get_ _worse'_?! That's exactly the kind of irresponsible and _lazy_ way of thinking that's sending this country straight down to hell!"

Done with his shouting and, well, pretty much everything else, CJ took a deep breath and moved to shut Ziegler up. "Toby, for the love of everything that's good and alive in this world, please just finish the damn speech before I blow a gasket and take out you, Josh and anyone else who might cross my path in a murderous rampage!"

But Toby didn't back down and stepped closer. She wanted to mock him for having to look up at her, but held back as his voice grated on her headache. "Yeah, a speech will magically fix all our problems!"

"Not by a long shot Pokey, but it'll fix today's and that good enough for me. I want it in the President-Elect's hands when he leaves his office."

Toby glowered, almost to the point of blowing steam out of his ears and nostrils, but stalked off without saying another word.

"Are the results really that bad?" Abigail questioned softly when peace returned.

"No," CJ lied and tried not to show she'd completely forgotten the other woman's presence. "They really don't matter; the inauguration itself will gain us points."

"Because my husband looks dashing in his new suit?"

Appreciating the injection of humor, CJ grinned while collecting the last of her unpacked belongings. "Something like that. I'd better go talk to your husband."

Abbey nodded and rose from her chair."I'll join you."

Now that they were both on their feet, CJ noticed the height difference seemed larger than usual. Glancing down, she saw not trademark stiletto's on the First Lady's feet, but fluffy, pink slippers.

"Lead the way, Claudia Jean."

The loud thud of something hitting the other side of her office wall, halted her answer. Her fingers cramped into a choke-like hold involuntarily and a chill of frustration ran up her spine. CJ shuddered and released a long breath, tenaciously holding on to the last threads of calm. "Yes ma'am."

Aware of the Doctor's scrutinizing gaze, CJ consciously tried not to limp. Of course, paying that much attention to putting one foot in front of the other felt unnatural and she was certain she only succeeded in exaggerating any possible limp.

So engrossed in her own footwork, she didn't realize they were being tailed until they reached Leo's office and she caught a glimpse of red from the corner of her eyes. "Danny!"

The White House reporter smiled brightly. "CJ."

"You are not supposed to be here."

Danny grinned proudly. "Carol let me in, she likes me."

"If she keeps that up, I won't like her anymore."

"C'mon," he cocked his head and exuded a confidence that right now, just played on her already irritated mood. "You know you like me too."

She glared in Abbey's direction, aware of the smirk on the other woman's lips, before replying to Danny, "I like seeing you leave."

He held up his hands in surrender, not immune to the threat in her voice. "I just want the final draft."

"You'll have it before two, I promise."

Almost she had him, he already started to back away when his eyes lit up. "The address starts at noon!"

"Can't get anything past you, can I, Danny-boy?"

"What's the hold-up anyway? This is last minute work CJ, if we don't have the final draft soon, we'll have to write about how the staff prepared for the inauguration and you don't want that."

She really didn't want that. With a sigh she adopted a more personable attitude. "Toby's just twiddling with the opening paragraphs. You'll have the final draft before we reach the Hill."

"I have to say CJ, this doesn't look very professional."

"Well, there's a reason we didn't want you around," she admitted easily; opting for humor rather than defense. Hopefully he wouldn't realize just how honest that answer was.

But as always, Danny had something up his sleeve. "Care to comment on the latest poll results?"

"CAROL!" Within seconds, the brunette appeared a few feet away. "Get him out of here, call security if need be." Both Danny and Carol protested against the drastic measure, but they just couldn't risk press lurking in the halls this day, even if it was Danny, so she waved them off.

The journalist winked at her and nodded in Carol's direction. "She likes me."

"And stop liking him!" CJ watched the two of them disappear down the hall, very much aware Carol gave no notice to her latest order, and made a mental note to speak to her staff about the incident. Right now, there was a slightly more pressing matter waiting for her.

Abbey nudged her side when they continued their path. "He likes you."

"Could we go the rest of the day without mentioning my social life?"

The lines around Abbey's eyes deepened when she laughed, "my dear, you _have_ no social life."

"I'm just vocationally challenged," CJ defended herself meekly.

To her relief, they finally reached the ante-office where Mrs. Landingham looked up from her desk. "Ms. Cregg, Mrs. Bartlet."

"I need to see the President-Elect, Mrs. Landingham."

The secretary looked at her with an 'is that so' expression, for which CJ really didn't have the time. "Is he expecting you?"

"Yes." The lie would probably take her off the cookie-list for a few weeks, but she could live with that.

"Let me check."

Going against every rule the secretary so painstakingly – and at times sadistically – implemented during the campaign, CJ didn't wait for the okay and charged straight ahead. She heard Mrs. Landigham say something about cookies to Abigail, but her focus was already on the last obstacle in front of her.

She yanked the handle of the door and came face to face with a surprised President-Elect, a familiar, but mercifully closed dossier in his hand. "Where's the fire?"

She followed his gaze as it moved to a point just over her left shoulder and jumped when she saw Mrs. Landingham – arms crossed. "Sorry Mr. President-Elect. This one forgot her manners."

But Bartlet's attention had already moved to his third visitor. "That's alright Mrs. Landingham," he said absently as his wife stepped around the two other women. He whistled appreciatively. "Great outfit."

"You like?" Abbey twirled for him. Judging by the look in his eyes, the clothes didn't interest him all that much. CJ instantly recoiled from that thought, for some reason flashing back to when her teenage-self walking in on her father and first – or second? – stepmom doing the nasty.

"Much," Jed smarted, "that's my sweatshirt."

"Ah huh."

"I'd like it back now."

"Fat chance."

Not at all thrown by her defiance – at least not in any way obvious to CJ – Jed advanced on his wife. "Then I'll take it back."

"Ha! You and what army, grandpa?"

There was a beat, the kind that signaled the smug line of his mouth was justified, before he answered; "the 82nd airborne."

Slightly uncomfortable, CJ considered sneaking back out into the ante-office until the First Couple was done playing games. That, however, meant she'd have to face Mrs. Landingham – who had managed to leave without alerting anyone. The choice really wasn't that difficult. She'd take raunchy Bartlets over a pissed Mrs. L. anytime. She was so caught up in her dilemma, she didn't realize Abbey was talking to her. "CJ, can he do that?"

"Oh," she physically backed away, "don't pull me into this."

Apparently her impression of Switzerland bolstered the President. He spread his arms, the file still closed and all but forgotten as he bowed. "You're married to Potus now, baby." Abbey cocked an eyebrow at her husband's frivolous advances. "Get used to it."

"I'm still going home with someone else tonight," she promised her husband.

Bartlet shrugged unperturbed, "I hear the President of this country is a brilliant, handsome man you can't possible deny."

"Is that so?"

"hmm… so obviously I can't stop you from cheating with him, seeing how he's just so good looking and smart."

"So you're saying it's okay if I cheat on you?" CJ noticed the change in tone and suddenly worried her boss would take things a little too far. A lover's spat was the last thing she needed this day.

Jed, however, seemed oblivious to any changes in his wife's attitude. "Of course. You'd only cheat on me with the President, anyway."

Abbey crossed her arms and squared her shoulders. "In your dreams, boyfriend. If I want to cheat, I'll cheat with anyone I damn well please." Oh this could turn so very bad.

"Sounds like you've got someone in mind."

"That must drive you crazy."

"A little," the President-Elect admitted lightly. "Who is this man? I'll send the 82nd airborne after him."

"Maybe it's a woman," Abbey grinned triumphantly, "maybe it's CJ."

"Aw, what does she have that I don't?"

"Apart from the obvious? About five inches." To his credit, Jed appeared more disturbed by the thinly veiled attack on his height, than anything else the First Lady just insinuated.

"I'm not getting pulled into this either," CJ stated when the First Couple looked expectantly in her direction. "Maybe I'll just wait outside," she mused. Surely she could take Mrs. Landingham. Mrs. Bartlet interrupted before she reached the door, the affection in her voice barely controlled. CJ couldn't help but feel a little envious of the bond between these two brilliant minds. "That's okay, CJ. I'm leaving before he gets any fresh ideas."

"I'll show you fresh," Jed mumbled and pulled his wife close for a full on kiss that left the couple a little breathless and CJ staring at her hands. At least it didn't look like she'd have to worry about marital fall-outs.

Just when she thought it was safe to look up again, the President-Elect grabbed a handful of his wife's ass. Abbey just rolled her eyes and winked at the slightly uncomfortable Press Secretary, putting an extra bounce in her step on her way to the exit.

"Still thinking about cheating?"

"Every minute of every day," Abbey promised as she slipped through the door.

"Just checking." Energized by the exchange, Jed Bartlet waved at the only woman in his staff. "So what can I do for you, Claudia Jean?"

"I'd like that file back, sir."

"This one?" He pulled his glasses down and studied the title page. "I haven't read it yet."

She resisted the urge to shuffle her feet. "That's why I'd like it back."

"Are there mistakes in it?" His tone was light, but she knew better than to think he didn't care.

She also knew lying wouldn't get her anywhere, but that didn't mean she had to give up the truth that easily. "No, sir."

"Is it an accidental copy of last week's results?" Again she shook her head, her eyes on the prize. "Or," the infliction behind that one syllable spelled 'game over' loud and clear, "are they just that bad?" When she didn't respond he snorted and turned to study the painting on the left wall. "I can handle low approval ratings on the morning of my inauguration just fine, Claudia Jean."

Maybe so, but it hadn't escaped her that he'd had the file in his hands for a good ten minutes now and he still hadn't opened it. "Good or bad, Mr. President, these results honestly don't matter. You have to trust me."

His reaction was immediate; his shoulders slumped and the jovial attitude disappeared. CJ regretted her words, she hadn't meant to dredge up old mistakes, she just really needed that file back. When he held the file out to her, she almost didn't take it, but decided not to risk him changing his mind.

Now that it was safely out of his hands, she relaxed a little and accepted his invitation to sit.

"I never apologized."

She brushed off his apology. "We disagreed, I imagine that will happen again at some point."

When he frowned, she grinned. He hated disagreeing with his staff almost as much as he hated being wrong. "The DNC Chair yelled at me for a good ten minutes." His expression turned boyish, "I told him he can't do that anymore when I'm President."

"Or you'll send the 82nd airborne after him?"

There was a hint of surprise in his eyes before he grinned. "I guess that threat is wearing thin, fast."

"Nah, but it sounds like the 82nd guys are going to be pretty busy the next eight years."

"You seem pretty sure about that second term."

"There's no point giving up on another term beforehand." Uncomfortable under his piercing eyes, she crossed her legs and studied the lines on his forehead. He didn't look older than when she first met him, when would that change? Presidency usually wasn't all that kind to the aging process. With her – just – thirty-seven years, she was one of the youngest staffers traipsing these hallways and when all was said and done, she'd be forty-five and in desperate need of a long, long vacation.

"Anyway." She dropped her eyes to his when he spoke again, unsure if she wanted to know what thoughts caused the disappointed expression now on his face. With his thin lips pursed like that, he looked more like a disciplined schoolboy, than a fearsome leader. "Turns out Davids wasn't all that surprised by my, shall we say 'error of judgment'; he was stunned no one on my staff stopped me."

It took a lot more willpower not to react that she would've liked, but the incident was still fresh in her mind. She'd argued her case flawlessly, strengthened in the knowledge it was the only answer to the abortion debate that wouldn't alienate half the country, only to have the whole staff turn against her. She'd lost arguments before, but this one really cut close to her heart. To make matters worse; she'd spent the better part of the last three weeks fixing a mistake that could've been prevented.

Bartlet looked at her guiltily. "I should've listened to you."

"I'm your PR-advisor," she shrugged and deflated. Playing 'what if's' would not help this President. "You didn't hire me to comment on, or suggest policy."

"Maybe we should change your job-description."

Grateful for the consideration, she matched his smile. "If the last few months are any indication, I'll have my hands full with my job as it is."

A shadow of doubt crossed his face. "There'll be sacrifices."

"Yes, but there'll be victories."

His nod was pensive, not at all convinced and she realized he'd locked his fingers together as if in prayer. A change of subject wouldn't be a bad idea, CJ figured. "Which Bible did you settle on?"

"Our family Bible." He waved the worn, leather book through the air for a moment, before holding it out to her.

"Good choice." It was hard to truly grasp the age of this bundle of paper. Sure, two hundred years sounded old, but what did she have to compare it with?

"Let's hope so," she was forming a list of reasons supporting his choice in her head when he continued, "we let Liz hold it during Zoey's baptism. God knows how she got hold of a pen."

Curiosity piqued, CJ leafed carefully through the thin pages until she reached Genesis 21, where young Elizabeth Bartlet had scribbled her name, a heart with an arrow through it, and 'Jimmy' in the margin. The sharp tip of the pen punctured the paper, the little holes pricking her fingertips.

"At least she picked an altar-boy," Jed acquiesced with obvious affection.

The laughter died in CJ's throat when she realized how long it'd been since she held a Bible and she closed the book abruptly.

"CJ?"

Looking up at him, she forced a smile. "My dad went to church mostly because it was important to mom. He spent most of the service scribbling numbers and calculations in the margins. Calculating the exact number of kids Abraham and Sarah had, how many years supposedly passed between one passage and the next, things like that." The corners of her mouth pulled up with the memories. "I probably solved more equations than I said prayers. After she…" the word stuck in her throat, her eyes glued to the holy book in her hand, its worn leather rough under her fingertips, "died, we still went, but we never prayed." She knew her father still had that bible and hated that she had to wonder how much longer he'd be able to make sense of the math. Jed – the President – looked at her with sympathy she found hard to take. She didn't often think back to her childhood and spoke of it even less.

He took the Bible from her when she held it out. "Do you believe in God, Claudia Jean?"

"Sometimes."

He studied her as if they'd never met. Some press secretary she was, blurting out answers like that. She couldn't read him well enough to figure out if she needed to elaborate or not, so she said nothing and matched his studious gaze instead. "My family has always had a close relationship with God," he no longer looked at her, though his eyes were still trained on her face. CJ sat unmoving, unsure of what was to come. "Perhaps, because we were never close with each other."The admission hung between them for a pregnant moment. She didn't know what to say next, but he let her off the hook. Whether for her benefit or his, she wasn't sure. "Anyway, don't we have to leave soon?"

CJ checked her watch and used that moment to collect herself. The Governor – President, didn't usually share personal thoughts with her. Then again, she couldn't blame him for being a little emotional on this day. "We have a few minutes." And it looked like Toby could use them, damn him. "Did you read Hoynes' speech?"

"Yes. Curiously, I haven't read my own."

"I'm sure Toby's almost finished." Her heart skipped a beat when his words sank in. "You did read the finished paragraphs, didn't you? He's only working on the opening, the rest has been done for a while. You did read it, didn't you? Sir?"

"Of course," he waved her off, "not that it's any good without, you know, a genesis."

"He'll be here," she sounded much more convinced than she felt, "I threatened his future offspring."

"Assuming he'll have any." A knock on the door interrupted her comeback. "I thought you picked the red suit?" Jed questioned his wife as she appeared, dressed in a simple, black ensemble and almost drowning in a heavy winter coat.

"Burgundy, and I'll change on the Hill. Don't want to get my clothes wrinkled in the car."

"Is that why you told me I didn't have change before leaving?"

Abbey smiled cruelly. "Yes. There's a suit waiting for you on the Hill."

He sighed dramatically. "Well, let's go." Abbey handed him his jacket and watched as he flipped it over his head and slid his arms through the sleeves.

"But sir, the speech…"

"I said 'let's go', CJ." Obediently she fell into step behind them, cursing Toby under her breath.

"Jed, your coat," Abbey admonished when they passed the coat rack next to Mrs. Landingham's desk. "It's forty degrees out there."

"Until 1933 the Presidential inaugurations were held in March." CJ swallowed a groan. She knew that tone, that type of fact and searched the corridors for Toby as much as an escape route. "Better weather you may think, but the Inauguration of William Taft was moved inside due to low temperatures."

"Fascinating," Abbey commented dryly.

"He was a wuss," the almost-President continued unfazed, "Reagan held his second inauguration inside as well; also a wuss. In New Hampshire forty degrees is balmy, tropical."

"In New Hampshire you don't have to stand outside for three hours."

"We could go to New York," he reached for his wife's hand as they approached the backdoor, "Washington held his first address at the Federal Hall."

"I'm sure those ten degrees will make all the difference," Abbey deadpanned. The Secret Service detail surrounding them shifted in format.

CJ couldn't help but feel a little like an inmate, rather than a protectee and hunched her shoulders to avoid bumping into any of the severe-faced, black coated, lethal agents. "Didn't one of Franklin Roosevelt's inaugurations take place at the White House?" She cursed her mouth and for a second had idle hope her words fell on deaf ears. Then Bartlet swiveled around, index finger in the air.

"Why yes, his fourth if I remember correctly. Nineteen-forty-five. You know, to this day there are different theories about why the inauguration took place in the White House." Abbey looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes, her husband happily chatting while they moved to the car, veiled by a dozen or so agents. "The official reason was of course 'the expense and impropriety of festivity during the height of war', but other theories suggest FDR's poor health caused the change in venue."

"He did die a few months later," the First Lady pointed out as she stepped into the gleaming black limo.

Jed looked at her thoughtfully. "Yeah, so that didn't help."

"I'll see you on the Hill-"

"Ride with us, Claudia-Jean."

The plea in Mrs. Bartlet's voice almost made her laugh. She shook her head, "someone has to make sure the boys get there in one piece." Except for Toby, she could live with Toby arriving in two – or three – pieces.

As the window rolled up, she just caught Bartlet's citation of Roosevelt's address, "We have learned that we must live as men, not as ostriches, nor as dogs in the manger."

"Please God," she muttered on her way to Toby's office, "don't let him improvise." The sea of interns and high-level assistants still crowding the halls parted before her like the red sea. Just to be sure, she checked her mirror image for any steam coming out of her ears before charging ahead. Heads were going to roll and she didn't care if she ended up on the CIA's most wanted list by noon.

Josh fell into step behind her, about halfway to her destination. He babbled something about screwing up earlier, but she easily tuned him out. Having reached the communications office, she pushed the door open without knocking. Toby looked infuriatingly unsurprised and tried a calm preemptive strike. "CJ…"

"I don't want to hear it Ziegler." She yanked his coat from the rack and threw it against his chest. The keys apparently in one of the pockets providing satisfying sound-effects when they hit him. "The President is on his way to the Capitol, without the finished address and he was _quoting FDR_."

"Which year?"

Sam shrank back behind his desk when she turned to glare at him. "Does it matter?"

"Well, if it was the thirty-three—"

"Sam!"

"Shutting up."

Appeased for now, she moved back to Toby. "I don't care how bad it is, you're going to print what you have and let Carol distribute it to the press."

"That's really not—"

"I swear Pokey, one more word and I'll behead you right now. Sure, I'd prefer to wait until after the inauguration, with the bad press and all, but you've pushed just enough buttons." When he remained silent, she continued somewhat triumphantly. "Then we are going to the Hill and if you're lucky, I won't toss you into the Potomac on the way. Got it?"

"Yeah," he answered, seemingly unaffected by her tirade, "but I really think—"

"Move it." CJ watched as the two men slowly got up and started to file out of the office. She followed closely as if she could somehow herd everything into its proper space and time again. Arms crossed she oversaw Toby handing a floppy to a confused Carol and left her assistant with strict instructions. No one spoke when they headed to their cars, even Josh kept his mouth shut for once.

Ninety minutes later, she realized that somehow she'd made it without killing anyone or exploding. She hadn't spoken with Toby or Sam since leaving their office and she felt perfectly fine leaving it that way for a long, long time. Or, at least for five more minutes. The last staff meeting before the official transition was one she couldn't easily avoid.

Her last briefing just behind her, it suddenly hit her that the real game was only just beginning. Her next briefing she'd be standing in front of the White House seal, in the actual White House as the actual, official White House Press Secretary.

The painful throbbing in her ankle shook her from the paralyzing fear that momentarily overcame her. She'd been so busy with the preparations, fixing mistakes and keeping the guys in line that she hadn't really thought about what was next. After she took a deep breath, she addressed the two stiff guards at either side of the door. "Is anyone in yet?"

The blond one only shook his head.

"Think it's okay if I go in?" The other agent opened the door without a word. "Friendly," she murmured nervously.

Over the course of the campaign, she'd been to the Hill more times than she could count, but she didn't recognize the room. It wasn't lavish, or as stately as the rest of the building seemed to be. Instead, it felt almost homely as she dropped herself in what turned out to be a plush couch with poor springs. She sank just a little too far into the worn upholstery to be comfortable and when the door opened to admit the President-Elect and his wife, she struggled to stand. The ankle didn't help, causing her to stumble and draw a worried glance from the Doctor. From behind her, Mrs. Landingham gave her the evil eye.

Oblivious to her flailing, Bartlet greeted her with grand gestures. "CJ! Oh don't get up, we don't have much time. At least that's what Leo keeps saying, you'd think he's about to become a father again, the way that man is running around the place."

"Leo?" _Leo_? Leo was unflappable. Nothing ever fazed that man and occasionally she hated him for it. Okay, most of the time she hated him for it.

But Bartlet didn't hear her. "Did you know that when preparing for his third inauguration FDR—"

"Sir, the address, we have to—" Toby skitted to a halt when he saw her, his face scrunching up. She'd never admit to being grateful for his crude interruption. "CJ."

"Tobus."

No one had a chance to recover before the arrival of the wonder boys in rapt discussion with one another. CJ was sure Sam and Josh could've gone six rounds without noticing anyone else's presence and Toby, for once, seemed at loss on how to interrupt them.

Leo's arrival did the trick. He walked casually into the room, then paused, confusion crinkling the lines on his forehead. "You're all here."

Pulled from their little world, Josh and Sam replied in unison, "you told us to be."

"Yeah, but I didn't expect any of you to be on time." Grumbling aside, there was a light in his eyes that made him look ten years younger. If Leo felt confident, CJ decided, then so did she. At least until her President had to address his people.

The conversations around her picked up again, but running on just a liter of coffee and no sleep for thirty-six hours, CJ couldn't be bothered to keep track. It's not like they were saying anything of interest. What was a note of interest was their impending to switch to, well, reality and now that she had a moment to think about it, it was a rather daunting prospect. She'd done a good job in forgetting that she was here but for the grace of Toby and she still wasn't wholly convinced Leo didn't have a back-up ready in case she cracked under the pressure.

Not gonna happen. They weren't going to screw this up. _She_ wouldn't screw up.

Something Toby said pulled her out of her inner dialogue. Standing opposed to Bartlet, half obscuring the President-Elect from her view, the speechwriter threw his hands in the air and exclaimed "there's time! If you'd just read through the first para—"

"No." Their boss crossed his arms and pursed his lips. "It's too late, Toby. I'll adlib."

Blood pressure rising, CJ glanced at her other colleagues, only to find them too immersed in their own conversations to hear the early signs of the apocalypse.

"It'll be fun!" Jed added joyfully. Successfully extinguishing any hope she had left for an inauguration that would go down in history as anything other than disastrous. Why did no one else seem to care? Toby grunted defeat – never a good sign – and gave up.

She caught Abbey's eye over Leo's shoulder when she finally made it out of the couch, only to stumble and almost fall back. Cat-like she twisted her body just enough to shift her centre of gravity and stayed upright. The Doctor smiled thinly, CJ smirked. She wasn't going to fall down, not today.

Anyway, she was actually moving with a purpose and took a tentative step towards the man of the hour. If she could just talk some sense into him. Glancing through Toby's latest paragraphs wouldn't take that long, there was still time.

"Okay, listen up!" Leo's stern exclamation effectively halted her steps and all conversation in the room. "We have to be out in thirty minutes. Josh, I want you to go over the security protocols one last time with agent Butterfield and major Strasser. Toby, Sam, you'll have fifteen minutes with the President-Elect," he looked sternly at the two men and tilted his head to include Bartlet, "it'd be nice if you could all manage to not make mistakes today." It'd be funny, were it not crucial. "CJ, babysit the press, don't let them go where they're not supposed to. Oh, and stop by Hoynes and his cronies, will you?"

They all murmured acknowledgements and started to file out of the room, when Bartlet called them back. "Hold a sec, I have something to say before I will become, well, the guy with his finger on the nuclear button – and we'll find out soon enough if that's a good thing, or not. A word of thanks." The very real trepidation in the President-Elect's voice undercut the questionable joke.

Suddenly ashamed to have been close to freaking out, CJ realized the real weight of this transfer lay on Bartlet's shoulders, not hers. He was holding up pretty well though and seemed relaxed, if a little emotional.

They gathered around their leader, who took a few seconds to make eye contact with every member of his staff before speaking. "We wouldn't be standing here if not for your continuing passion and persistence. Leo's unfaltering belief convinced me to run. Josh, your energy is a little nutty, but you get the job done and Sam, I ran for people like you, who believe that if we just try hard enough, we will make a difference. Compromises are inevitable and so are mistakes and we wouldn't cope half as elegantly without you Claudia Jean. Nothing I could say would have as much impact if not for Toby's words. I know I wasn't very nice to you when we started this journey," he admitted sheepishly, "but here we are, ready to take – err, change the country. Thank you."

No one knew quite what to say to the heartfelt speech, until Leo straightened his back and pulled his face into a smile. "I serve at the pleasure of President Josiah Bartlet."

CJ felt tears stinging in the corners of her eyes as she repeated with the others, "I serve at the pleasure of President Josiah Bartlet."

"Okay," Jed nodded and broke the sudden awkward silence, "let's get it over with." He grabbed hold of his wife with one hand and held Mrs. Landingham's hand with the other, quietly and privately thanking the older women like he'd just thanked the rest of his staff. CJ didn't know much of their past, but it had always been clear they'd known each other for a long, long time.

It felt weird to split up and complete the last moments of this journey separately. Of course they all had their responsibilities, but they were a team. At least they could stick together for a little while longer, heading down the long hallway.

"I watched the briefing." Toby spoke quietly from behind her, the way he usually did when he realized he treaded on thin ice with her. CJ judged it better not to halt her steps and look at him, or reply. Instead she kept her eyes focused on the President-Elect's back. "He'll be okay."

Easy for him to say. If Bartlet flunked – and that was a fifty-fifty chance, taking overall performance into account – Toby wasn't the one who had to fix it on international television. "It didn't sound like you read the final draft," he continued his train of thought.

The muscles in her back tensed and against her better judgment, she turned. "At what point, during the last four hours do you think I've had time to read it Toby?"

He just shrugged, a sliver of accusation in his beady little eyes.

"Between hourly briefings, staff, babysitting Josh, sucking up to network bosses and secret service security briefings and kicking your ass, when exactly have I had time to read the inauguration address. Which, by the way, you finished five minutes before we left!" Slowly she took her finger down from where it hovered between them. His lips parted, her eyes narrowed. "Don't," she warned breathlessly.

For a second he appeared to heed her warning and closed his mouth, then with a gleam in his eyes he quickly mumbled "coulda read it in the car" and took off.

CJ took a deep breath, and another one, and one more just to be safe, before breaking formation to find Senator Hoynes.

Thankfully the VP-Elect seemed calm and collected and his capable staff had done an excellent job keeping him on schedule, so really all she had to do was confirm his speech and choice of Bible.

The esteemed members of the press, on the other hand, were rowdy and excited. Their constant questions and demands did little for the headache she'd managed to bring under control. Deftly she herded them into their assigned holding pen . The week'd been too long for witty remarks, so she stuck with quick and simple answers to keep them happy and distracted them with brand new itineraries and Carol while she dashed off for a last quick word with the President-Elect.

Abbey was carefully smoothing down her husband's suit and tugging on his tie when CJ popped behind the stage. Just out of earshot, one of the assistants busily conversed with the ceremony master but the stress in the room was palpable. The hour was upon them.

When the First Lady took off in search of a mirror for a last check of her make-up, CJ quickly approached her boss. He looked a little forlorn, standing in the middle of an inhumanly amount of wires, lights, cables and more wires. People she'd never seen before where running around the place like a colony of rats. How could security possibly be as tight as she'd just told the press it was?

"Are there a lot of people out?"

She swallowed. "Yeah." In fact, she'd never seen such a crowd. Hard to believe some people had been standing out in the cold since eight a.m. "Did you talk to Hoynes?"

"Just before he went out," Jed confirmed, " If I get shot in the next ten minutes, he'll get one hell of a promotion."

"Well let's just pretend that's not going to happen."

"Let's," Leo deadpanned, appearing out of nowhere. "It's time to go, Mr. President-Elect."

Abbey reappeared at her husband's side, the three Bartlet-daughters, one son-in-law and two nervous grandchildren in tow. CJ shuffled uneasily; she had a message to deliver, but she hadn't counted on an audience. "Sir?" Leo looked at her impatiently. Thankfully Bartlet's blue eyes were kind, allowing her to set aside her reservations. "Just… remember you already won, Mr. President."

His eyes narrowed, "is that your way of telling me not to be smug?"

"You can be smug, just don't let anyone see or hear it. Sir."

He held her eyes a moment longer. She felt anxious under his stare, unwilling to let him see she didn't have complete faith in his adlib-talents. Her mask cracked and he smiled thinly. "The only thing we have to fear, Claudia Jean, is fear itself." Oh God, Roosevelt, _again_. Before she could react he grabbed his wife's hand and the First Family moved away from her. "Let's do this."

CJ watched them go and made a brief stop by the press pen for any last-minute questions. The confirmation was already underway when she took her place next to Toby, standing just off the stage all the while fending off the sense of dread that loomed over her.

A strange sense of calm settled over her when the applause died down and the confirmed President opened his mouth to speak. She wished her parents could be here, that she could've watched the confirmation with them, without distraction. She wished she could listen to this speech as if she hadn't heard it – well, most of it – dozens of times before. Toby's speeches could take your breath away.

It took some time, but Toby had warmed up to his new sidekick and his writing was better for it. Samuel's enthusiastically idealistic and at times naïve disposition seemed to have conquered Toby's bleak outlook on humankind to allow for the possibility that maybe they were not surrounded by total idiots and morons.

There was hope in this speech, hope that dared to announce itself as such, but flanked by confidence and faith. The combination worked particularly well on large crowds and the enthusiastic response from the audience spurred President Bartlet on.

After the first few sentences she managed to breathe and when he was a few minutes into the address and hadn't quoted FDR at all, she actually relaxed enough to glance around her. Next to her Toby's eyes were aimed squarely in her direction. "Don't look at me like that."

His mouth thinned and it just might be the closest thing to a smile she'd seen from him in a long time. "Like what?" He asked in a quiet voice, false innocence palpable and his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Like you knew he'd do good."

"I did."

"Sure." She didn't buy it. This was sheer luck. Toby just looked at her and shuffled his feet minutely. An uneasy feeling crept up on her. Her friend didn't usually look this smug without good reason. Suspicious now, she glanced from Toby to Josh, to Sam and Leo. And back to Sam. He mouthed along with President Bartlet's words. Sam always did that. It was not something that should strike her as odd, because it wasn't.

Except that Sam couldn't possibly know how Bartlet would improvise, let alone match him word for word. Her mind finally connected the dots. Without looking she jabbed her elbow in Toby's side. "You played me!"

"Like a violin," her friend confirmed with pride in his eyes.

"Roosevelt?"

Toby's non-smile widened, "touch of the master."

CJ followed his gaze back to the just confirmed President, orating with every ounce of gravitas in him and she wanted to be mad for the unnecessary stress they caused, for giving the press more information than her. She wanted to be mad, really. But they played her. The President of the United States of America played her and the address drew deafening applause in all the right places.


End file.
